FastForward: 20 years past, Heroes almost gone
by the-dramatic-harmonica
Summary: What Isaac never painted- Only two remain: Peter and Claire. Undying, unchanging, keeping the world safe from whatever harm befalls it. Sylar is immortal along with them. 20 years since Sylar became Nathan and countless more on the horizon.
1. Truths, Deaths and Nightmares

**Do not own Heroes, as much as we keep dreaming.**

Note: The number of years 'past' is to be added onto the conclusion of season 3. (ex 4 years past- 4 years after Sylar becomes Nathan Petrelli and all events pertaining to that period of time) Sorry if we ruin the characters, plots, pairing or completely alter the world of Heroes, this is our first joined fanfic ever and though we are loyal supporters, we might not remember every little detail that happened in season 3. We will try to keep as close to the facts as possible, but feel free to let us know if something does not match up.

NOTE OF MENTION: **Sapphirehummingbird** is my co-author, great friend and fellow Heroes lover.

Thanks for helping out.

Now, without much further ado, here we go.

* * *

**Prologue: 3 Years Past: Washington, D.C.**

Sylar sat at a desk, shuffling aimlessly through papers, more to keep his hands busy than for the sake of actual work. He'd been having unusual dreams lately, dreams of an alternate past, drastically different from the one he was sure had been real. Maybe it was the stress of his position. Maybe he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Either way, he couldn't help wondering what the dreams meant.

The last few months had been so surreal. On one hand, daily life had continued as usual. He spent the weekdays in his office, focused on specific tasks, attempting to relax during the weekends. Last weekend, he'd talked to his mother over the phone, chatting briefly about seemingly insignificant events in each others' lives. 'Catching up', she called it, but Sylar knew that she called him regularly more out of a sense of responsibility than actual affection for her son. On the other hand, his thoughts had been wandering. While day-to-day events rushed by in a painfully real way, he found it hard to focus. It was like watching a movie, getting immersed, until he saw nothing but the world within the screen, then something would suddenly and forcibly snap him back to reality.

He didn't feel himself. He was Nathan Petrelli, United States senator, Angela's son, Peter's brother, and father of two. Yet he was starting to feel like all this was so foreign, someone else's life.

He wanted to figure out what this all meant, but before he could immerse himself too deep in thought, a knock came on the door.

"Come on in."

Peter Petrelli entered Sylar's handsome, wood-panelled office.

"Pete, you haven't stopped by in a while," Sylar said, smiling.

"I've been busy, but it's good to see you again, Nathan."

The two shared a brief embrace before Sylar stepped back, keeping his hand on his supposed brother's shoulder. Although his smile remained, he obviously seemed skeptical that Peter had been doing anything productive.

"Busy? With what?" he asked, trying not to sound too doubtful.

"I got hired at the hospital, in maternity," Peter announced with a grin.

"Maternity?" Sylar raised an eyebrow. "But you got a job. Congratulations, Peter! Does Ma know?"

"I haven't told her yet."

"We should celebrate, go out for dinner or something," Sylar responded, sitting back behind his desk. Peter followed suit, seating himself in a chair on the other side of the papers covering the surface. "So what's up?"

"Not much else, I just wanted to give you the good news," replied Peter, happy to see his brother after a few months of nothing but minimal contact.

A silence commenced, as Sylar's attention fell to Peter's watch. He could hear it tick, and could tell, just from the sound, that the minute wheel was slightly loose. The fact that he knew this confused him slightly. He'd never known anything about clocks, but in the past three years he'd noticed a strange ability to determine, simply by sound, all the details of the inner-workings. Because of this worrying affliction, Sylar switched to a digital watch a few months ago in an attempt to push unusual thoughts to the back of his mind.

Peter noticed Sylar fall silent, and their eyes met. Sylar broke the gaze, fiddling with the button on his sleeve cuff.

"What is it, Nathan?"

"Well, I just..." he paused, sighing. "It's nothing. Listen, Pete, I need to get back to work. About dinner, does 6:30 tomorrow night work for you?" he asked as he opened up his electronic planner, spotting an opening. "I'll pick you up. Where are you living these days?"

Peter was used to Nathan's straightforward, business-like way of talking. "I've got an apartment a few blocks away, but I'll be working at the hospital until 6."

"Alright, well I'll see you then. I'll wait for you near the entrance."

Peter found his own way out, shutting the door behind him. Sylar sighed again in the silence, finding himself alone with his own thoughts.

* * *

Sylar paced the hospital foyer, a little frustrated at Peter's lateness. It was almost 6:30, and they would miss the reservations if he had to wait any longer. Being a very punctual person, he couldn't wrap his head around the idea of someone unable to make it for a meeting time. He pulled out his phone and dialed the restaurant, letting the host know to expect them a few minutes later than he had booked.

He had arrived wearing one of his tailored suits, rarely found wearing anything else these days, even during his busy weekends. With a roll of his eyes, he figured Peter probably hadn't brought a change of clothes. It would be embarassing to be seen dressed so formally, eating in an expensive restaurant with his brother wearing scrubs and his hair still styled in such a juvenile way. While he sometimes resented the man's lack of seriousness regarding his career and professionalism, he had to admit Peter wouldn't be Peter without this particular attitude.

Growing evermore impatient, Sylar decided to browse the nearby gift shop to pass the time. He glanced at get well cards and flowers offering condolences as the cashier clicked her tongue upon seeing a patron so near to closing time.

Amongst the figurines and baby toys, he spotted a snow globe, featuring the picturesque hospital in a wintertime setting. He picked it up, tipping it upside-down momentarily to admire the slowly falling snow. The scene looked so tranquil, a stark contrast to the stresses of his life. The serenity allowed his mind to fade into calmness. Lost in thought, he failed to notice Peter walk up behind him and jumped as Peter spoke.

"Here you are, I've been looking. I thought you said you would be in the lobby."

Sylar spun to face his supposed brother, still holding the globe.

"Pete, do you think Ma would like this? You know how much she loves snow globes," he asked, showing the snowy scene.

"Does she?" Peter asked.

Sylar swallowed hard, his mind racing. He shivered, unnoticed by Peter, and with a shock wave like hitting a brick wall, a dam breaking, everything flooded his head. He suddenly felt the start of a cold sweat on his skin, remembering his own mother's snow globe collection, his own past, his own life. He remembered the fight with Peter and Nathan, and waking up believing he was someone else. The past three years had been spent in the role of Nathan Petrelli, living as a different man day after day, month after month. He felt physically sick as he came to the full realization of the extent of this fake existence, this paper-thin facade that had kept him imprisoned in the wrong life. It felt like the walls around him were crashing down.

All these thoughts occurred within a split second and Sylar regained his composure with little outwardly visible emotion.

"You're right, she probably wouldn't be interested," he smiled, "We better get to the restaurant before they cancel our reservation."

* * *

Sylar locked the front door behind him later that evening. Nathan Petrelli's front door. He'd had his chauffeur take Peter home before stopping at the elegant house that also belonged to Petrelli. He sat on Petrelli's couch, already planning out his actions for the next few days. He was thankful for the weekend, starting tomorrow, meaning he didn't need to be in the office in the morning. Sylar slid off the suit jacket, taking off the tie and unbuttoning his collar and cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow. All evening, he'd been thinking about the consequences of his recent realization. However, there was little point in getting upset about it yet.

Sylar was eager to try out all his old powers, having to think hard to remember what they all were. He remembered the more prominent ones: telekinesis, electricity, healing, and of course, shapeshifting. He paced the living room, flicking lights on with a simple hand gesture. He spent much of the evening using his telekinesis to rearrange the furniture. This proved to require a lot of effort but felt satisfying, like flexing a rarely-used muscle. After the quick breather, he stood and headed to the bathroom.

Petrelli looked back at him from the mirror. It had been so long since he'd used any of his powers and was finding shapeshifting to be particularly painful. He gripped the sink and screwed his eyes shut as his skin burned and contorted, his spine searing with pain as the transformation caused him to slowly grow by a few inches. Sylar slid to his hands and knees on the plush bathroom rug as his muscles tore and reformed. Thick, warm blood dripped from tears in his skin as the sloppy shift left him incomplete. However, his healing ability kicked in and the wounds closed as quickly as they had opened. When it was over, he stood shakily, wiping the blood and sweat from his brow.

Although the pain had quickly faded, the hot water of the shower was still a relief, easing the residual feeling created by his mind. Being in his own body after three years was like coming back to a familiar home from a long vacation, finding everything exactly where you had left it. Sylar used his mind to bring the soap from it's dish, washing his body to rid himself of the filth of the senator.

The doorbell echoed from the entrance hall to the bedroom, where Sylar slowly stirred. It rang twice more and Sylar leapt to his feet, the bright morning sunshine blinding him momentarily. He threw on a robe and headed downstairs. Halfway down the staircase, he transformed into Petrelli, doubling over for a moment, clenching his teeth, but the change was complete within a moment. Unbolting the door, he was faced with the senator's mother.

"Goodness, Nathan. Did you just wake up? It's nearly noon, for heaven's sake." Always critical, Angela Petrelli gave her scruffy-looking son a once-over, judgmental glance before walking through the door and settling herself down on the couch.

"Ma, I wasn't expecting you," Sylar replied, still holding the door open. He locked it and joined Angela in the living room.

"Can't I drop in on my own son every once-in-a-while?" Angela asked as she put a hand on Sylar's cheek and her expensive purse on the coffee table.

Sylar turned away, frowning.

"What's the matter?" she asked sharply.

"Why have you been lying to me, Angela Petrelli?"

Her face didn't show the underlying surprise at Sylar's rediscovered identity. Maybe after the years she'd acted as his mother, he had come to see her as such. Maybe her son would forgive her.

"The same reason any mother would lie to her son. I wanted to protect you."

"I don't need your protection. You're not my mother!" Sylar shouted, standing suddenly to face her.

She stood also. Although her face was barely at his shoulders, she looked up at him confidently, responding, "I can be, if you let me."

Sylar didn't answer right away. His thoughts drifted back to the death of his own mother. However, this woman could never replace her and wouldn't be able to undo his sins. He had murdered Virgina Gray, and she wasn't coming back. Her offer enraged him. How dare she suggest that he continue this lie?

"I'm going to kill you, Angela Petrelli. I wonder what Peter will say," he pondered aloud, his face turning into a smirk.

"Please, Gabriel, I only did what I thought was best. I'd just lost my son, and allowing you to die too wasn't what I wanted."

"You're lying. If you didn't want Nathan back so badly, you'd have killed me yourself," Sylar snapped, growing angry.

"Gabriel, that's not true. You were like a son to me once. I thought it could work again."

"Spare me the pleas, Angela. I can tell when you're lying. You've always been manipulative, spinning your threads of deceit around everyone you know. It seems like the spider has finally been caught in her own web."

As Sylar raised his arm, his hand making a gripping motion, Angela was lifted off her feet. Her hands scrambled at her neck and her mouth was open in a silet scream. Sylar's finger on his other hand slowly became level with her forehead and a horrific grinding sound was heard as her scalp split and her skull was sawn open in a straight line across her head. Angela's fingernails gouged at her neck as she tried to pry away the invisible force, tears streaming down her face. In a moment, the pain, blood loss, and brain damage became too much, and Angela Petrelli slipped into unconsciousness and death. Although the hunger had overcome Sylar, giving in to the feeling was far from satisfying.

With Angela's body safely buried in a remote location, to avoid people recognizing his characteristic killing methods, and his bloodstained hands carefully cleaned, Sylar finally felt the sense of relief for which he'd been hoping. He returned to his house, changing from a suit-clad Nathan to his own form, still wearing just a robe. Finally being himself again, he felt so free, so empowered. It would be important to keep up the current act, using it to his advantage, but Sylar enjoyed the time he would be able to spend alone, even if he had to hide his identity in public.

Entering the living room, Sylar spotted something shining from the floor. Crouching down, he picked up Angela's chain necklace. She must've pulled it off while grabbing at her own neck during the brief struggle. As his fingertips contacted the cold silver, his mind was filled with images, but he focused on ones relating to Angela's relationship with him. The object, worn regularly by the woman, told him the story of how he had become Nathan Petrelli. The details didn't concern him, but he paused as he learned of the involvement of both Matt Parkman and Noah Bennet. Sylar knew immediately that he would kill them both for what they had done to him. Parkman's ability would be very useful. However, it would require careful planning to take out Bennet. The man was smart, experienced, and resilient. If Sylar wanted him dead, it would have to work on the first try, to avoid revealing himself only to have the man escape. Figuring out the inner-workings of a plan was what Sylar excelled at.

Matt Parkman was the obvious choice for his first act of revenge. With Parkman's powerful abilities in his repertoire, it would be much easier to get Bennet with little personal risk.

While figuring out the details of his plan, Sylar browsed his closet for something to wear, wishing he had his own clothes. He chose Petrelli's only pair of jeans and opted for one of his more casual dress shirts. With a grimace, he transformed into Petrelli, although the change was getting easier every time. After booking a last-minute flight online to the west coast, Sylar grabbed the keys to one of his expensive cars and headed out the front door.

* * *

"Matt, he's crying again."

"I'll take care of it."

Matt dragged himself out of bed, walking slowly into the next room, the hallway partially illuminated by a streetlamp outside the window. He approached the toddler gate blocking the colorful bedroom's doorway to find his young son standing, holding into the bars, and crying.

"Come here, Matt. What's the matter?" he asked, picking up the boy and sitting down at the kitchen table with Matt Jr. on his knee. "Are you lonely? Or do you just like waking me up in the middle of the night?" he said in a quiet voice, although there was no bitterness in his tone. Being a dad was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and enduring sleepless nights while his son grew up was worth every moment. Matt always thought the terrible twos were supposed to be a trying time for parents, but the 'fearsome fours', as Matt had called them, were proving even worse.

"Daddy, I had a bad dream," his son sniffed, rubbing tears across his face with the back of his small hand.

"It's ok, Matty. Bad dreams are just our imaginations, remember?"

"Mm-hmm," the little boy replied, but his lower lip continued to tremble.

Matt knew that he could use his powers to relieve his son's unhappiness, but he had promised himself never to purposefully affect the thoughts of his family. He couldn't help reading their minds from time to time, but he wouldn't use his abilities of putting thoughts into their heads.

"Why don't I read you a little of your story, then tuck you back into bed?" Matt asked, putting the toddler down and taking a kid's book from the shelf in the adjoining room. Matt Jr. nodded silently.

Back in Matt Jr.'s room, Matt sat on the small bed with his son on his lap, opening the book at the marked page. The little boy looked at the vibrant pictures while his father read aloud.

"Matt!" came a shriek from the bedroom up the hall, followed by a scrambling noise and the shattering of ceramic.

"Janice, I'll be right there!" Matt yelled, quickly putting his son down and sprinting in the direction of his new-again wife.

As Matt's eyes scanned the dark room, he saw an upturned table, broken mirror, and a smashed lamp. Janice stood on the bed, looking stunned.

"What is it, Jan?"

"Oh gosh! I could've sworn I saw a huge mouse run under the bathroom door."

Matt laughed at her over-reaction, feeling slightly relieved.

"I'll take a look if you like," he suggested, walking towards the closed door, not minding his role of protective husband.

"You know what?" she said suddenly, "I probably just imagined it. Listen, why don't you go tuck in Matty and come back to bed."

"Alright." Matt sounded a little suspicious, but left to put his son to bed.

Upon his return, he found his wife under the covers. Matt climbed under with her, moving closer so her back rested against his chest, putting his arm around her waist. Janice flinched slightly, but didn't move. She felt a little tense, but Matt didn't think much of it, slowly drifting to sleep.

Matt was awoken suddenly by a sharp pain in his chest and a sensation of heavy pressure. His eyes flashed open to find himself face-to-face with his wife. She crouched over him, appearing to be pinning him down without touching him. A finger placed a few inches from his forehead caused a stabbing pain and deafening grinding sound. While Matt found himself unable to cry out, he focused his mind, sending out a telepathic, 'Stop.'

The sawing stopped before too much damage had been done. The person pinning him down, obviously not his wife, maintained the telekinetic grip.

'Let go, and get up,' came Matt's disembodied voice.

Although Sylar fought against the prompting, Matt's powers had greatly increased since last they met. Sylar gritted his teeth, conscious of the thoughts being forced into his mind, but unable to stop the urge to fulfill the commands. He relinquished his hold, stepping back off the bed, still glaring at Matt.

Matt stood also, facing his enemy. He realized Sylar must've finally broken through the mental hold Matt had put on him. Before him stood the image of his wife: pretty, nightgown-clad, and grinning in a twisted way he never thought possible to see on Janice's usually kind features.

"I was hoping to catch you off-guard, Parkman." The name was spat with contempt.

With a gut-wrenching realization, Matt glanced at the bathroom door. He knew why Sylar had stopped him from entering the room. Janice was dead. Sylar noticed the subtle movement of Matt's eyes, predicting his thoughts.

"I took care of Matty too," he mocked, "He didn't even cry, the brave little boy."

Matt's breathe caught in his throat and he blinked back tears. While Sylar gloated, continuing his little speech, Matt was deaf to his words. Before Sylar even had a moment to react, he fell headfirst into Matt's world of nightmares.

"Mother?"

Virginia Gray stood before Sylar, looking frail, and smiling sadly.

"I always expected so much more from you, Gabriel."

"I just want to make you proud of me. That's all I ever wanted, to be a son you could love," Gabriel replied, looking away.

"You're no son of mine, Sylar!" she backed away from him, a look of terror marring her kind face.

Sylar's arm moved of his own accord, holding up a pair of scissors, despite his efforts to turn away from his mother, to protect her. While he watched in alarm, his hand reached out, stabbing the sharp point into her chest. His eyes widened as he saw her give him a look of betrayal, before she slowly glided away, fading into darkness.

Scene after scene played out in Sylar's mind. Each was more disturbing than the last. He had no choice but to watch as he relived each murder he had committed in sharp detail. Although the vision seemed to last hours, only minutes had passed. When Sylar was jolted back to reality, his knees gave way and he vomited on the carpet.

Once he had regained himself, still shaking and sweating, Matt's footsteps were already down the hall.

Sylar leapt to his feet, running after Matt, and just in time to see the front door slam. Once Sylar had made it outside, however, the scene caused him to yell out in frustration. On the ground lay Matt Parkman, face down, the contents of his skull sprayed across the driveway, his LAPD-issued handgun still gripped in his hand. He would rather take his own life than relinquish his power to his enemy. With no wife or child to protect, Matt had seen his purpose disappear so quickly.

As Sylar walked back into the house, he growled to himself. How useful telepathy would be, he would never find out. He approached the smaller bedroom, folding his arms as he looked into the child's eyes, so like his father's.

"What am I going to do with you, now?"

* * *

A few weeks later, and the city of New York was starting to get colder. An obvious chill was in the air, giving promises of another snowy winter approaching. The bustling city-goers barely noticed during the rush of busy lives. The Petrelli mansion, however, was always kept at a comfortable temperature, no matter the outside climate.

Matt Parkman cried.

"I can't go any faster, Matt!" came a frustrated call from the kitchen, as Sylar quickly slapped peanut butter onto a slice of bread and putting it on top of the other slice, already covered in strawberry jelly. He hurried into the living room, where the toddler sat in front of the tv.

"You better not say it has bumps in it this time. I got the jelly instead of jam."

It'd been grating on Sylar's nerves to care for the kid. He was almost wishing he'd killed him, like he told the boy's father. The fool had been so wrapped up in emotion that he hadn't even read Sylar's mind to find out the truth. Mohinder hadn't been answering his phone, or Sylar would've been rid of the boy ages ago. He had planned to call, simply to confirm the doctor's availability without revealing his own identity, in order to drop off the boy anonymously. He knew Mohinder had a fondness for kids, and was the only one nearby, excluding Peter of course.

The time at home had been frustrating to say the least. Not only had Matt's powers been lost, but Sylar had been unable to eliminate Bennet. As carefully as the plan had been executed, Bennet, always on his guard, had seen Sylar coming. The only thing to do was count his losses and return home, ready to try again when then time was right.

* * *

**Chapter One: 16 Years Past: Santa Fe, New Mexico**

Black, dark, grey.

"We are here to lay to rest Noah Bennet" the monotone voice pierced the husky silence and she looked up, across her father's closed eyes, unusually bare without their horn rimmed frame. She looked to Lyle, but as suspected, his gaze were cast down and he wouldn't meet her eyes. She felt the tears on her cheeks, trickling slowly to her mouth, salty taste flooding to her lips. She brushed them away, sniffling. She looked the same, more or less. 23, but how long had she been this old? She was surprised she could feel anything anymore, even weep for her father, who put her through all the trouble, the lies, the schemes. If she were Lyle, she wouldn't look at her either. She tried to imagine what it must be like, but she couldn't. He hadn't found out till years later, all the secrets that they'd been keeping from him. Neglect wore him down, changed him into a distant boy and his life, if he looks on it, would just be lies, broken trust and neglect. He'd been the only one bathed in lies, the others knowing the truth and she'd not seen him for 5 years now, since their mother's funeral. Everything and everyone was slipping away from her and she longed to be held so badly, to be soothed and told everything would be alright, but she wasn't that girl anymore, she wouldn't let that show, she was Claire and had forgotten pain long ago, learned how to heal from it ever so quickly.

The sermon was usual, nothing out of the ordinary, but no one here to lay him to rest. No haitian, no wife, no Angela, Nathan, just her and Lyle.

It's after the burial now, her father six feet under, the weight of the world on him, or at least some of it. She busied herself in the deserts and wondered if Lyle will speak to her, since he didn't at their mother's funeral. He hadn't spoken to her since he'd found out- years now, at least 8. But Claire was losing count of all the years, she couldn't grasp time, some of the events in her life seeming to take forever and others, like the fights with her Dad, the eclipse, homecoming, seem to flash by in an instant. She's unchanging and can't grasp time anymore.

"you look the same" came Lyle's quiet attempt at making conversation "but i guess that's part of the ability" his words burned, his expression, harsh and grabbing tea across from her, he sits down on the other side of the room, looking around. Every funeral at this parlor comes with a reception, room, refreshments and the like and Claire had booked it, thinking maybe all those company people might show up, might give her answers, but she supposed, there was no one left and among all the tea and biscuits, it was just her and Lyle.

She had imagined to be reunited with the Haitian or Claude, or Mohinder. She wished Peter to be here, just a familiar face, but Peter and her were distant now. Her father's funeral had proved what she'd never believed to be true- that he really did put family first. Either that, or everyone's dead. A thought echoed in her mind and she forced it out, hoping that someone was out there. She knew Peter was, but was scared to contact him, since the last time she had, it had been a grave mistake.

"I thought you said he was important?" Lyle asked and she looked up from her thoughts, realizing she'd been stirring her coffee before even putting sugar in. She spooned some in and resumed stirring, now to a purpose.

"He was" she whispered and he nodded.

"I'm surprised I even came" Lyle responded

"He was your father, Lyle"

"he lied to me my whole life!" Lyle countered

"One day you'll forgive him and you'll be glad that you came" she countered back and nothing more was said on the matter.

They left without another word, Claire paid the funeral services, said goodbye to the grave one more time and left, parting ways with the only bit of family she had left. Hopefully we'll reconcile one day, she thought, when everything is different.

Claire sat up in bed, jerked awake from the nightmare again. The nightmare that had been haunting her for the past years. The last time she'd seen Peter, the last time words had been spoken and it haunted her. It had been the night her mother had died, before the funeral procession, awkward conversation with Lyle, seeing her father again. It was 5 years ago, give or take a month, but she had been haunted by these visions and nightmares for 5 years now. Her dreams were always the same. She was glad Peter was staying away now, she wouldn't know how to handle being near him.

The dream always started the same, as it had in real life, a phone call. The dream was real life, the events that had happened that night her mother died and it haunted her often, and she usually woke up screaming. She couldn't shake the nightmare from her mind and remembered it flawlessly, it always being the same.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away from her, but just saw the nightmare again........

**11 Years Past: 5 Years Ago: The Night That Haunts Claire**

"Peter?" her frightened voice asked, knowing she had woken him in the middle of the night.

"what is it Claire?" he asked, his voice soothing, but exhausted. He must have been working late at the hospital.

"I was wondering if you could just talk?" her paranoia asked, hoping he would agree.

"Claire, its 2 in the morning" his voice was stern, tired, not the Peter she had imagined after pacing and finally deciding to call. It's Peter She had thought to herself He's always there for me, always.

"I know"

"What's wrong?" his voice asked again and she stifled a sob.

Peter sat up in his bed, flicked on the light and glanced at the time. Yup, 2 am in the morning. And he had to be at the hospital at ten.

"my.." she paused, unable to say the words herself "my mom died, Pete"

"oh god, Claire!" his voice filling with the compassion she knew well. She was crying fully now.

"I'm ok" she choked the lie.

"Claire, talk to me. It's ok. Just tell me everything" he whispered and she sobbed harder.

"I'm all alone" she whispered "and my mom's gone" You're stronger than this Claire, a voice told her, but she couldn't stop the onrush of tears.

"Claire, I'll send Nathan over, ok? I can't get there now, I have to work in the morning and I'll be there as soon as I can, ok?" he soothed and she nodded. He got this way too much in his field of work and was used to it by now, but the personal tragedy hit him hard.

"Claire, I'm sorry. I am" he whispered and she nodded, though he couldn't see.

"I know Pete, I just wish you were here"

"I know Claire, I will be soon" He promised. "I'm gonna call Nathan now, then I'll call you right back, ok?"

"ok" she sobbed and the line went dead.

"Pete! Do you know what time it is?"

"Nathan, you owe me something, as my brother. Don't ask questions, please. I know it's early, but you've got to get to Claire. Her mom just died, she's distraught, she really needs you now. You've got the connections, You can be there sooner than me, Please just do it" Peter was serious, fully awake now and glued to his computer screen, desperately searching.

"Pete, I can't" Nathan said on the other line

"Your daughter needs you Nathan!" Peter replied, snapping.

"Pete, I can't" he said again.

"Fine" and with that Peter hung up the line.

Claire was waiting by the phone, staring down on it. Peter had promised to call back and he was one to keep his promises. A thousand napkins were strewn across the floor and sitting in her fitted black tank-top and silk sleeping shorts, Claire huddled herself on the couch, hoping he would call soon. She heard a knock on the door and rose slowly, wearingly. Claire, get a hold of yourself, You can't die, you can't get hurt. She told herself and boldly walked to the door and peeked in the peep hole.

She swung the door open instantly and bounded into his arms, holding him tightly in a hug.

"Oh Peter!" she whispered, sobbing onto his shoulder, as they awkwardly stood, embraced in the hallway.

She pulled apart, instantly remembering what she was wearing, where they were and how wrong this all was.

"Sorry" she whispered and he nodded.

"It's fine Claire, you're in pain, I know" he soothed and she led him into the small apartment. A small tv stood in the corner of the room, an ancient looking sofa, the tiniest kitchen imaginable, a single coffee maker and microwave and not much else filled the apartment.

"you decided to come?" she asked

"I couldn't leave you here" A smile played at her lips, but she knew better.

"I thought you said you couldn't, you have work tomorrow"

"I can call in sick"

"you're a nurse"

"my niece needs me. Save the cheerleader, right?" he asked and she smiled now.

"you were my hero, Pete" she whispered, borderline inappropriate.

"How did you get here anyway?" she asked " I thought you still lived in New York"

"I met Hiro last week. Figured I'd use his ability for something good"

"your always thinking on the good" she smiled "can I get you something, coffee, tea, cake?"

"you do know what time it is, right?" he asked and she smiled.

"ya, sorry. Just so out of it"

"I understand"

"How long's it been?" Claire asked "Since your mom?" she stopped, unable to keep going.

"I didn't come here to bum you out about talking about death! Come on, sit down and let's cheer you up!" he offered, plopping himself down on the couch.

"Ok" she agreed, sitting on the other end.

"you've been crying lots?" he asked and she nodded, wanting to hold onto him again, but scared of the awkwardness.

"come here" he whispered, almost inviting in a non sympathetic way, but she did not notice and fit into his arms. He wrapped them around her and she pulled him in for a deep hug, never wanting to let go.

"I love you Pete" she heard herself say, before she could stop it and cursed to herself.

"and I you" he whispered back, letting himself smell her hair and pull her head against his chest, in their close embrace.

"Pete?" she looked up, inches away from his face, she stared into his deep chocolate brown eyes, feeling herself drawn to him, as she had been before all the torment, after he had first saved her, before all the real pain and suffering, the lies, the deaths. When it was just a cheerleader and her hero. He felt it too, it was undeniable and he stared back into her eyes, feeling himself draw in.

"mmhmm?" he asked, but she had lost her train of thought, staring now at his lips, moving closer.

"thanks" she paused, her words disconnected, her focus on shifting from his eyes to his lips " for com ing"

"Claire?" his voice was deep, expectant, as if knowing what was about to happen.

She placed her hand on his, holding it in hers, letting his fingers trace her forearm.

The phone startled her, she almost jumped out of her skin and in an instant, all the build up and the closeness was gone, as she had dashed off the couch and now stood at the other end of it, holding the cordless phone in her hand.

"Pete?" she asked, uneasiness creeping into her voice

"Yes Claire?" he asked

"How come you're calling me?

"what?" he asked

"Peter, how can you be calling me?" she asked again, more composed and she clicked the green button putting the phone to her ear.

"Who is this?" she asked

"It's Peter" the voice replied

"That's not possible"

"I promised I'd call back Claire" he said on the other end.

"No, you're in front of me" she responded, but as soon as she had said it, the phone dropped to the floor, as Peter, as he had been in front of her. Transformed into Sylar.

"CLAIRE? CLAIRE? CLAIRE?" the frantic voice came through the phone on the floor, but Claire was inching back now, away from the couch and Sylar. The phone drifted to his hand instantly and he switched into Nathan.

"It's alright Pete, I'm here" he spoke softly and Claire could hardly believe her eyes.

"Nathan!? Is she ok?"

"She's fine Pete, I decided to come after all"

"PETER IT'S SYLAR!!!!" Claire screamed, hoping he could hear her on the line, but she never got to find out. Sylar shut off the phone, throwing it onto the couch.

"Wish you hadn't said that" he played, moving slowly closer to her, predator.

"Sylar?" She asked, in disbelief "I saw you die" she told herself more and him and he chuckled.

"Angela couldn't bear Nathan's death, so Matt changed me into him. He convinced me I was Nathan Petrelli, but their all dead now, so it doesn't matter" She looked at him in disbelief, he was alive? He had been Nathan, for years! And she, had just hugged, held onto and said I love you, to her deepest enemy.

"he's gonna come and save me!" she cried, trying to reassure herself.

"Claire" her name echoed from his deep, dark voice. "He's in New York, first flight doesn't leave till morning. It's just you and me tonight"

* * *

**So there we go**, prologue and Chapter one! We hope you enjoyed and look forward to hearing your reactions, comments, questions or any feedback at all!


	2. Powerless

* * *

Here we go, leaving off where we left at Chapter One:

Read Away....

* * *

"So, always call Pete so late at night?" Sylar asked, Claire immobilized in front of him. He rather liked having this puppeteering ability, so handy sometimes. He knew the use of Peter's name so casually would drive her insane. Oddly, he was used to it. Yes, he had been Nathan Petrelli for many years now. Yes, he'd almost kissed her about 20 minutes ago. Getting her to be his victim was simple. It hadn't taken much struggle, barely any at all, the game was more fun this way, testing, teasing her and now she sat in front of him, completely motionless, unless he choose other wise.

"No, special occasion" she breathed through her tightened mouth.

"right, you're mother. My mother died too. I killed her. And Peter's mother too" her eye twitched at this comment.

"i know you hate me now Claire, but think about it. You won't always. And one day, It'll just be you and me, ageless, against all odds, and you'll long for something familiar" he cooed, and she only kept staring because she was forced.

"Peter will be there too" she countered

"I said familiar, not familial" he whispered, a slight smile playing at his lips, devilish, evil and he knew he was driving her insane, but it was fun.

"No Sylar" She choked out the words and he shook his head, mockingly.

"Well Claire, if you're not gonna say something nice, don't say anything at all" and with a hand, her mouth was shut.

"now, where were we when Peter so rudely interrupted us?" he asked

She murmured, trying to make noise, but knew it was no use.

"Well, Claire?" he asked " I could've sworn you were about to kiss me" the word kiss echoed, a tear falling down her cheek, though she couldn't move.

"Now Claire! Don't cry. I'm here for you. I am, I'll take care of you" he came over to her, sitting beside her now. He wiped the tear from her cheek, his gaze lingering on her lips.

"Now Claire, cry, I'm here to console you on your loss" He unbound her lips, waiting for a response. He turned away from her now, facing the kitchen, his eyes clouding over.

"your mother loved you, didn't she?" he asked and she murmured a yes.

"You're lucky then" he responded, his voice soft.

"lucky? she's dead"

"don't get so mad Claire, It's not like I killed her" he responded, playfulness in his voice

"surprise there" she said, monotone

"I know you think I'm a monster, but we're the same Claire"

"NO" she said, rather forcefully.

"I'd never harm you...well, that's not entirely true" he paused, a deep smile on his lips, then it faded just as quickly and he continued "but not emotionally, not on purpose. I care for you, I don't want to force you to do anything. I think it would be best if you called Peter and told him of the situation, we don't want him getting on the next plane recklessly, now do we, Claire?"

"He'll be here soon" she murmured, trying not to listen to his words. He reached for the phone and held if out for her, but she didn't even glance at it.

"i can always call, pretending to be you" he whispered

"Peter knows better" she shot back

"Peter thinks I'm dead"

"He'll be here soon" she reassured again and he grew tired of it, not caring, for, he'd enjoy a nice battle, for old times sake. He used his mind to put the phone back in place and then resumed his conversation, looking ahead and not at her.

"I admire you Claire, your confidence. You're strength really is inspiring. I was always weak you know"

"really? thought you just prayed on them" she retorted

"Claire, I know you hate me. I can't forgive myself for what I've done. None of you understand, It's my power, made me a killer. I have this ability, to see how things work, but it comes with a hunger, Claire, a _need_ to have those abilities"

"your just trying to justify your actions"

"maybe I am" he whispered, moving farther away from her on the couch. "But you're not trying to understand me, I don't want to do this. I know you'll never love me, no one ever has. Peter's the one with all the attention, the hero" the word hero, had never sounded so malicious, she speculated.

"and I'll always be the bad guy, in the shadows. I never get the pat on the back, the encouraging smile, the loving family. I get trickery and hate and fear. And I'm not gonna lie and say I don't enjoy it, I've learned to. But I'm sorry, I really am, that you'll never see who I was before, who I really am. Sometimes, I wish I never had powers, abilities, I'd be clear of all of this, no hunger, no yearning, just myself again, but then I'd never be anyone special" Sylar was frightened of how much he was revealing to the girl, but part of him kept going, kept talking, couldn't stop, wanting to pour out his soul to someone who would listen, someone alive who knew what he was beneath the murderer.

She didn't know why, but she found herself growing with compassion towards him and hated herself for it. The night was wearing on but it seemed Sylar did not want to torment her physically, which was good. She knew she would have to waste time, to still be sane when Peter arrived. She decided to grow affectionate for him, maybe keep him ranting about his own horrible past.

"So interesting, your life" the lie left her lips, he looked up suddenly, but she couldn't read his expression.

"I can tell when people lie, Claire. It's quite handy, really" he whispered, menace in his voice. She tried to find a way, her mind was racing, how could she fight her biggest demon without moving?

"Claire, Peter won't come to save you" Sylar spoke plainly now and she looked up and decided to humor him.

"And why's that?" she asked, wondering if Sylar had endangered her only escape.

"you don't want to be saved" he spoke back and tried to shake her head, to no avail.

"That's a lie" she responded and he chuckled lightly, standing up and facing her, leaning against the kitchen counter. A coffee table and little carpet filled the space between them now. He leaned casually, as if it was a pleasant banter or mild flirting that their conversation contained. His hands were in his pockets, his blue collared shirt rolled up to his sleeves. His hair was spiked in a fashion he doted lately, mostly due to spare time. His black jeans shone in the light, and he crossed his legs casually, enjoying their conversation.

"Claire, I'm not the bad guy. I kill all the bad guys. Arthur Petrelli, Puppet guy, Denko-" she cut him off.

"-and then you become the worst one" she countered and his expression lost it's good humor.

"Claire- Bear, be kind, try to understand" he said, almost a whisper, but she still heard every word.

"Don't call me that, Gabriel" she whispered back, a blow to his mind and suddenly all was lost.

"I AM NOT!------" he shouted his voice rising, he was unable to say it, the identity he had once been and stopped short. He took in two sharp breaths and though the anger was still there, his volume was not as great. "how do you even know that name?" he asked, his mind reeling, had Peter known? Nathan? Angela?

"Did Angela tell you?" He asked and she would smile, if she could.

"No" she whispered "Elle did" It was a lie for sure, and Angela had told her and he felt the immediate detecting vibrations.

"You're lying" he snapped back.

"Maybe, but you're thinking about Elle now" she responded and it hit him hard, he had been and he was forcing her out of his mind now, but it made it worse. And then, something incredible happened, that Claire's dream always magnified. Sylar fell down, letting his back slide against the kitchen counter till he reached the floor. He leaned against the counter, sitting on the floor, feet sprawled out in front of him. He was in his own world now, but she couldn't tell. Trying desperately not to show the sadness he felt within him. His mind was reeling memories, all unpleasant. First Elle clouded his thoughts, then the company, his electricity, their connection, the eclipse, their passion, her death. One unpleasant memory stirred up thousands, but he wouldn't let a single tear fall in front of Claire Bennet, not on his life. He sniffled- or at least she thought he had and straightened up, but made no effort to move from the floor, his eyes cast down, his expression desolate. Time passed, she was forced still, watching him, wondering what he was thinking, why he was so distant. Had she caused this? She was so focused on him, she didn't seem to notice the sun rise behind her, the rays bathing the apartment in a warm, glowing light. Yet, as time drifted on, nothing was said and he was still staring at the ground, tormented with his own thoughts.

She wanted to speak his name, to ironically offer him comfort, though her mother dying and one phone call had all started this. The name Sylar tormented her, and she knew he hated Gabriel. She wanted something more personal, something he'd react to, like a nickname, a term of endearment, much as she hated the thought. Her mind kept racing for anything. She wondered what Elle had called him, but shied away from mentioning her again, scared of Elle's impact on Sylar, such a change she had caused.

"You're not a monster" she whispered and he looked up, his glazed over eyes meeting hers over the coffee table.

"How do you know?" he whispered, clearly in his self loathing stage now. His voice sounded strange now, having not spoken for so long. The sun shone on part of his face, a brilliant glow exuding from that side. It suited him, she thought, he looked human.

"your past? your power, you're forced into it. You can be a good person" she whispered, wondering if this would enrage him. From where he sat, she was just a silhouette, the sun blinding him through the open window.

He stood up quickly, scaring her with his sudden movement and began pacing instantly. Walking back and forth shadow and light, where the sun's rays fell onto the carpet through the window.

He should leave, he knew, but he wanted to fight Peter. Little had happened in his life lately that had been exciting, but fighting Peter would be fun, and he did deserve it, Sylar speculated. He had killed his mother, killed his brother, pretended to be his brother for years and now had 'attacked' Claire in the middle of the night. Peter deserved a fight with him, and Sylar couldn't deprive him that.

"You should go" he said suddenly and she looked up, confused.

"What?" she asked

"I'll let you go" he said

"No you won't"

"Why, do you want to stay?" he asked, his eyebrow moving with his words.

"NO!" it wasn't a lie, that he knew.

"I'll let you go, I want to fight Peter, it'll be" he paused, looking for the word "_fun"_

"I want to see Peter" she said back "and keep him away from you" she countered

"Peter can handle himself Claire, and I don't want to kill him. It's more fun him suffering after I killed his whole family, literally, with the exception of you. Besides, a good power battle, like the old days"

"I want to be here for Peter" she snapped back and he chuckled.

"you don't want to leave, do you Claire?" he asked "now that you've seen this side of me?" he teased

"I did make you cry" she countered back and he had just been about to laugh but stopped short, standing still from his pacing. Stopping in the path of the sun.

With a move of his hand, she had control of her body back.

"I didn't cry" he snapped back, but a weak smile played at her lips

"Almost"

"Leave before I decide to make you to stay" he whispered, trying to sound cruel.

"You wouldn't, you're not as bad as you try to be"

"You do know I take people's brains, right?" he asked, a sinister smile growing.

"Still" she whispered

"I don't see why you're here, Claire. I've let you go, what's holding you back? Want your own personal fight with me, I'll be up to it, anytime, not today. I don't want to be worn out when Peter gets here"

She didn't know why she couldn't leave, she stood up though, watching him.

"Claire, why haven't you jumped out of a window to get away from me yet? I'm a monster, remember?" he teased and she shook her head.

"You don't have to be, you could be a hero"

His dark laugh always haunted her the most at this part, he came closer to her, till there was barely any space between them. He was in front of the window with her now.

"Are you saying I don't scare you?" he asked and she shook her head, but he couldn't tell if it was a lie or not. She stepped closer to him, to his surprise and her own. Forcing herself to, wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

"Claire?" his voice was soft, frightened even

"Yes?" she asked, unable to think of anything to call him.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly and she raised her head, looking up into his eyes. His eyes were soft, not the cruel brown she had always remembered, a soft melancholy color.

"I'm sorry" she whispered and he nodded, vaguely for he was still confused, he held onto her now, a chaste hug, a soft genuine smile playing at his lips, but it vanished quickly.

"Claire?" the question came from Peter standing in the open doorway. He couldn't see them, just a blobbed silhouette in front of him, the sun dancing around them.

She separated from Sylar instantly, putting difference between her and the killer, but it just proved that she'd been holding on willingly and not been forced. When the separated, Peter knew they'd been hugging. This realization came with a crashing sound, as his bag fell to the floor. They could see his expression clearly, shocked with a mixture of fear, confusion and hate.

"Pete" Sylar welcomed, his hands still outstretched, as they had been holding Claire. They looked dark, since Peter couldn't see much, the sun in his eyes. They were just dark figures, Sylar's outstretched arms, like vines. He let them drop to his side.

"You've interrupted" he whispered, and now Claire was scared, but not for her own sake. "Second time tonight"

"Claire, what were you doing?" Peter asked, addressing her now.

"We were having a moment Pete" Sylar said, drawing his attention now.

"Now, don't you want to fight me? I touched your poor Claire, though I also saw how she'd love to touch you. And I killed your mother. And your brother, I've been Nathan for years, _Pete. _Those visits at the hospital, advice late at night, all _me_."

Peter's anger was growing, and fast. He was clearly still confused and estranged by their closeness, but focused only on Sylar now, ignoring Claire.

"lets fight Pete, I can give you a power, to give you the tiniest chance" Sylar purred and Peter just looked at him, dark brooding silence.

"Winner gets Claire" Sylar remarked and that had pushed Peter over the edge, he advanced at Sylar. Claire was watching, wondering, but before she could see what he had done, Sylar had bathed the room in a blue, electric light. Claire could see only Sylar's back. She heard Peter scream and shouted with all her might.

"PETER! PETER!!! SYLAR DON'T!!!" and then she usually woke up.

Normally, she would wake up screaming Peter's name, or "Sylar no!" but recently, she had woken up, sweat covering her, unable to breathe in the mess of covers, screaming "GABRIEL, DON'T!" She hated the dream, and though it only came twice a month, if even, it was still driving her insane. After 5 years! She now lived somewhere else, across the country. She'd not spoken to Peter since that day and didn't want to contact him, imaging Sylar answering her call again. She was terrified of what he had shown her, his human side and that she had _willingly_ embraced him for it, when it was her mother who had died! When it was her who needed the consoling! She tried to convince herself that Sylar had manipulated her to hug him, but he had been confused, terrified of her touch. She feared that if she met him again, she wouldn't be able to face him with anger. She had watched them fight in real life, but that part never stuck in her dreams. Peter had screamed, true, for his pain tolerance was low, or full of anger, she didn't know, or if she had, she didn't remember. Peter had left without a word, no answering questions, no condolences, no comforting. She wasn't supposed to feel pain, she knew and told herself not to feel for her mother's loss, losing her heart, numbing the pain away with nightmares and horrible replaying memories.

**11 Years Past: New York: Isaac Mendes' Apartment**

It was 4 in the morning. Peter just returned home from the hospital. He was helping people alright, and that was great. Sometimes it was frustrating though, brought back unpleasant memories. He would lie awake in the hospital, sleep deprived and close his eyes and see himself fly. He kept having the same dreams he'd had when taking care of Charles Deveux and it was cruel fate now that his father had taken away his abilities.

He needed to feel it again, the power, the rush from flying or the satisfaction of moving something with his mind. He still wasn't used to it, the not having powers. He felt so helpless and lost without having them, even with one at a time and Nathan a few hours away. He'd moved back to New York a few years ago, nostalgic for the past he wished was the present.

He'd visited Mohinder last week, the torturous plane ride, when he would've been able to fly. Mohinder had told him that he should be able to adapt, that so many other heroes had adapted and Peter might be able to grasp more than a few powers at a time. Mohinder was slowly losing control of himself though and much as Peter wanted to believe him, he wondered if it was Mohinider's pain medication urging on his dreams.

Mohinder still told him that all was in the realm of possibility, which had gotten Peter thinking. Claire had been able to build a tolerance of pain, and Matt's father had the ability to create nightmares, couldn't he too bring change to his abilities? Peter left Mohinder's small, undistinguishable place in Mexico, with a set plan in mind. He visited Hiro next, which meant another, longer and more painful flight. He experienced Japan for the first time and enjoyed being shown around with a eager Hiro and Ando at his side. After a short two week stay, Peter took Hiro's power and took a trip down memory lane, literally jumping in time to a very long forgotten past.

Though he had thought it risky, he wondered if changing the past wasn't such a bad idea, and would deal with the consequences that came. He sought out Claude, so that he could, as Mohinder explained, reach his potential. He knew that after encountering Claude, if he ever did find him, it would be nearly impossible to travel back to his own time. He would need to find Hiro, or perhaps his powers would manifest. As much as he doubted himself, he hoped his powers would present themselves. He found Claude, atop the Deveux building. It was probably months after Peter of that time had exploded in the air, but this futuristic Peter didn't remember much of that time, his memory so clouded,it was more than 12 years ago.

Claude was naturally, unwilling to help. He'd already dealt with a Peter Petrelli and it had taken quite some work to get him trained, but this Peter was determined not to give up.

"Peter Petrelli?" he asked, atop the Deveux building "nice to see you didn't go boom"

"thought I'd find you here" Peter answered

"and I suppose you need my help?"

"exactly" Peter spoke crisply, direct. "I need training" Peter said

"well, look who came back. I'm done. No"

"I need training" he replied, still firm

"and I suppose if you don't, you'll blow up the world?" Claude asked

"no" Peter replied "I just need training. I can only keep one power at a time"

"Peter"

"Claude, I need your help. You're the one you can help. I'm not going to take no for an answer"

"well i see you're not that pathetic sap anymore" Claude speculated "but I'm not agreeing"

"you got something better to do?" Peter asked, still serious and Claude shook his head

"you really want to do this, then?" Claude asked and Peter nodded.

"Help me now, or I'll follow you around for as long as I have to. That might not be such a great idea though, considering I'm from the future and all" Peter said, clear and strong.

"fine" Claude agreed "but it better not bloody be long, or change anything in the future"

"Deal" Peter responded and as soon as Claude had a bar in his hand, he was bashing Peter in, much like he had years ago.

Peter stayed with Claude for a week in the past, but nothing changed, no powers. All efforts were fruitless and finally, once and for all, sick and tired of getting bruised, broken and bashed in with a metal bar, Peter Petrelli did something he'd never done before and gave up defeat. He called Hiro the next day, parted ways with Claude, thanking him, though nothing had come from their week together. Peter hoped with all his heart that the future had not been changed while he was here. After Hiro teleported to New York, passed on his power and bid Peter farewell, he returned to his past.

That had all been two weeks ago. The future had remained the same, thought Peter couldn't help but feel a bit discontent with his simple life. Now Peter was back to his old self, or in a sense, a new one. He saw barely a point in life, helping in the hospital, spending time without powers, a boring, meaningless life. He was helping people, sure, but he'd always known and still felt now, that he was meant for something greater. He went to sleep that night, dreaming of change and abilities, unknowing what would soon come.

He'd been woken up by a 2 am call from Claire, hurt and scared in Washington. He had promised to call back, but when he had, had learned of the shocking news that now haunted him. He paced his room frantically, unable to bear the weight of the secret. Thoughts spun in his mind, memories of the recent Nathan. He had no way to get to Claire, he knew that for sure. He had traded Hiro's teleporting ability for Molly's. He had been in need to finding other heroes, busying his spare time with searching for remains of those alive. Now, he knew for certain that his mother and Matt Parkman were dead. Niki Sanders was dead. He had found few others. He tried to convince himself that Nathan was not dead, that Sylar was, but his new found ability to find people proved otherwise. He tried desperately to justify it, thinking again and again that his mother would never do that, when the obvious truth stared him in the face. He was already fully dressed and it was only 4 am. He had another hour till he had to be at the airport, then he would endure the plane ride and be on his way to saving Claire. He cursed himself for exchanging his power. Trying to keep out thoughts that pained him, yes, he would have been able to teleport before, if he still had his original ability. He had known that the teleportation and time travel was not important though, since he found himself nostalgic and all he had wanted to do was travel to the past, a much simpler time. To resist temptation, he'd found Molly Walker, by mere coincidence more than anything, since she attended the same private school as Nathan's kids. He had recognized her from Kirby Plaza, though he wondered how his mind had even remembered such a detail. He knew in a sense that he did not need powers to be a hero, remembering when he had kept fighting soon after losing them, but now with time on his hands and an inability to fight, he cursed his father for taking his gift away.

He sat down, tired of his pacing and thought on Nathan again. Dead. Sylar was Nathan. There was no way around it. He had been for years! He'd convinced him and Claire for years! He admitted it now, Sylar was Nathan, he had been in that alternate future, the one with Niki, the one with the bomb. Sylar had been Nathan and he'd been blind to see it there too. He was Nathan, and he, Peter had led Nathan right to Claire, in her weakest moment. His thoughts were tormenting him, driving him insane. _You didn't know Peter, You had no way of knowing, It's not your fault_. He heard his thoughts, but still the guilt fell on him and all he could do was wait, and hopefully, he'd soon be there. Peter was disgusted on the thought of Sylar as Nathan, comforting Claire! He had to consciously stop his mind of visualizing it, before it would cause him to be nauseous, or worse.

* * *

He arrived shortly after and swung the door open to see a strange silhouette in front of him. He was barely able to process what was happeneing, but two things were undeniably clear. Claire had just been hugging Sylar. The second was that she had been doing so in her own free will.

Sylar initiated the fight and though Peter feared the combat, with no ability to save him, he advanced, wanting to cause Sylar as much pain as he could, as hard as it would be.

He stood in the doorway, standing firmly, face-to-face with his greatest unconquered enemy. Thoughts raced through his mind, flitting from one possible course of action to another. Running wouldn't be an option. He wouldn't risk leaving Claire without giving her the benefit of the doubt, and his pride wouldn't allow a retreat. He could fight, but his only power was useless in combat. Before he had time to react, however, Sylar acted.

Sylar's hands snapped from his sides, outstretched toward Peter. He sent a powerful course of electricity down his arms and through his fingers, aimed at the man before him. The room filled with a blinding blue light as the air crackled, causing the hair on Claire's neck to stand up. Sylar grinned in satisfaction as he heard Peter scream, but couldn't see him through the blinding charges.

He figured Peter had had enough. He let up on the electricity, only to be staring at an empty doorway. He frowned. Did Peter run away? It was very unlike the heroic wannabe to flee from an enemy, but then again, neither of them had been in a fight in years. Claire was obviously wondering the same thing, and they looked at each other, confused.

Sylar staggered back as an unseen force slammed him in the jaw. His head jerked to the side, and he put a hand to his face, feeling the stickiness of blood on his lip. His head snapped back, looking frantically around the room, seeing only a bewildered Claire. Another, harder blow came quickly, hitting him in the stomach and knocking the air out of his lungs. Sylar doubled over, clutching his stomach with one arm and bracing himself on the floor with the other, kneeling.

"Claire?" he choked, "What's going on?"

With Sylar on the ground catching his breathe, Peter materialized next to Claire.

"Claire, I need your ability," he whispered, reaching out to gently touch her arm.

"You disappeared, Peter. You were invisible."

He looked at his chest, where his torn shirt revealed healed skin, free of the burns he had sustained only moments ago. All these years of being able to hold onto one ability at a time, and today, he had invisibility and healing.

It took him a moment for Sylar to regain his composure as the bruises healed, and he stood up. Seeing the back of Peter as he spoke to Claire, Sylar took advantage of the situation. He used a forceful motion with his mind to send Peter flying sideways into the wall. With his new healing ability, Peter recovered quickly.

"This should make things more interesting, wouldn't you say?" Sylar gave Peter a sinister look, the corners of his mouth turned up in a deranged half-smile, "I was only expecting feeble resistance."

"Then I guess you're in for more than you bargained for, Sylar!"

With an arrogant laugh, Sylar started sending objects flying at Peter. Plates from the kitchen hurdled toward Peter, who tried to protect himself with his own telekinesis. However, he seemed unable to use the ability and barely covered his head in time with his arms. Peter's cut forearms healed quickly, and he braced himself as the heavy kitchen table flew and slammed him back into the wall. He grunted as he felt his wrist break, but the pain faded quickly, the bones fusing together.

Claire, helpless to stop the fight, yelled out, "Peter, do something! Fight back!"

"How do you expect me to do that? With invisibility?" he growled, frustrated. He was unable to fight, and for what purpose anyway? It's not like Claire was exactly here against her will.

"She's right, Pete. Take action for once," Sylar mocked.

Sylar forced another surge of voltage at Peter, who writhed in pain. He gave Peter a moment to recover before hurling the heavy couch with a simple hand motion. The fight was beginning to bore him, and he was considering ending it now.

As the leather two-seater flew at him, Peter flinched and closed his eyes, putting out his hand. In the absence of a painful impact, he reopened his eyes slowly. The strong piece of furniture had been cracked in half, a piece lying on either side of him. Peter looked at his outstretched fist, making the connection. He realized he had a chance. Peter disappeared.

"Are we going to play games now?" Sylar sighed. This had been a disappointment. Peter wasn't as tough as he'd remembered.

A blinding pain in the back of the head almost knocked Sylar unconscious. He felt dizzy as he started to lift himself up off the carpet. An inhumanly strong kick from a now-visible Peter flipped Sylar onto his stomach before had fully recovered. Sylar groaned, disoriented, but snapped back to his senses in time to dodge a downward punch from Peter. Sylar stood quickly, taking a few steps back from the small crater Peter had caused.

"Super strength. Where did you pick that one up?"

"Nikki Saunders, 2006."

Peter was quickly tiring of this. Claire obviously wasn't in distress, so only Sylar's sick sadism was preventing him from leaving. Maybe it was better if he did leave. His niece and enemy could continue what they started, he thought bitterly. On top of that, the last thing he wanted was to catch Sylar's uncontrollable hunger like before.

"This is over now, Sylar. You two obviously don't need me here" he growled with a glance at Claire.

"Leaving already, Pete? This is just getting interesting," Sylar smirked, rolling his shoulders back. An electric charge formed in his hand. Peter braced himself, not having enough time to evade the attack. Sylar seemed to be taking great pleasure in seeing Peter in pain, but Claire had had enough. She ran to Sylar, reaching out to grab his outstretched arm. He immediately stopped the electricity, not wanting to hurt Claire, but gave her a questioning look.

"Sylar, enough," she whispered to him, leaning in close. She tried to take advantage of his better nature. The fight was over, and she had to stop Sylar before he did any real damage. She had to stand on her toes to whisper in his ear, her height being nothing compared to his six-foot stature.

"You need to let Peter go. He's no match for you," she said, trying to also appeal to Sylar's ego as she put a hand on his chest.

"Fine, if he means that much to you," he growled at her. "Well, Peter, it looks like this is finished," he called out.

Peter didn't hear any of the conversation, only seeing Claire whispering to Sylar as she touched him. This made him angry, and he decided to leave without another word. Peter ran past Sylar, jumped through the glass of the window, and flew out of sight. All Sylar could do was watch him go with a quick glance at Claire. He looked around the room at the wrecked furniture, broken window, and splintered floor.

"More cleanup than I expected."

She couldn't find her voice, but longed to go after Peter. He was probably back in New York by now, or enjoying his powers elsewhere. In any case, she wanted Sylar out, so that if Peter ever did come by again, the murderer would not be in her apartment.

"He ran away Claire. Out of character" Sylar mused, more to himself.

"No he didn't" she countered "He must've had a reason" she told herself

"maybe he wanted to let us be alone" Sylar smirked, facing her now. She stood against the wall, as if trapped, but she felt far from it.

"You need to leave" she said back, and found confusion at it. Was she asking him to leave? Instead of fleeing herself? She thought of how to get rid of him, but no idea came to mind. She'd been through so much in the last few hours, with sudden impact of her mother's death, her hug with Gabriel, Sylar's fight with Peter and now she had the wrong man in her apartment with her.

* * *

Peter sat atop a building, just block's away from Claire's. He was reveling in his new found abilities. He knew he should be heartbroken for Claire, consoling her, or shaken from his fight. In truth, he'd not felt happier in more than ten years. The last time he'd experienced such happiness had been when he had realized that he and his brother had conquered Sylar. That memory now filled with pain and emptiness. He practiced flying, allowing himself to invisibly fly over the city. He sat atop another building and took a shard of glass, slashing his thigh and watched it heal. This was indeed, one of the most exciting day he'd had in years. He felt the familiar rush of self identity and knew that he had to change the world and he would start with the cheerleader.


	3. The Dark

Hey everyone!

Heres the new **C****hapter 3** with **additions!** ( the additions are ***, so you can find them easily)

Thanks for reading, and we hope you enjoy!

* * *

** ********** ****11 Years Past: Near Tihajuana, Mexico ************

"How was work?" she chimed, soon as he shut the door. He placed his tattered briefcase on the table by the door before coming into the kitchen. She was wearing a color-faded apron, in the small kitchen.

"Fine" he responded, coming towards her and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Dinner will be done in ten minutes, your medication is on the table" she called and he nodded, walking to the small tray of pills beside water.

"Maya?" he asked, looking up from the table. She met his gaze, and she answered his question before he'd asked.

"They're in their rooms" she responded and he nodded. Shooting the pills into his mouth.

"I hate these pills" he mused to himself

"I know" she responded, putting down her mixing spoon and coming towards him. She wrapped her arms around him. "But you need to take them _me amori_." she whispered.

"I'm going to read" he said and she nodded, kissing him lightly on the back of the neck.

"Don't take too long. I don't want to be waiting for you to eat"

"Ok, I promise" he answered and she smiled, a glorious glow filling her face, before she rushed back to veggies, now starting to burn. He started to retreat, and just as his hand was on the handle, she brought his attention back.

"What did Peter want?" she asked and he met her gaze as she drained the pasta.

"When?" he asked.

"He was here yesterday Mohinder" she responded.

"He wanted to talk about his abilities" he responded, hand still on the door.

"Don't read, come and sit and talk to me. It's been a while since I've heard you talk about abilities" she whispered, pouring the pasta into dishes now.

"I don't want to go back to that life. I didn't like who I became, I lost you"

"You won't lose me by talking about genetics" she responded and his face flushed with a smile.

"Peter has got this power now, that lets him borrow one power at a time. Before, years ago he could only hold onto a power when around a person with an ability, but then he learned how to harness it. If you think about it, we are all on the brink of evolutionary breakthroughs! You learned how to calm your power, Matt learned how to access people's thoughts, Peter could be on the potential of gaining more powers!" Mohinder reveled, excitement rushing to his face, that Maya had not seen in a long time.

She had come back to him only 2 years ago, after constant communication, after he promised he had changed, after he'd made a life for himself. They'd moved to Mexico that year with Matt, as Mohinder was his legal guardian. Matt went to school nearby and Mohinder was teaching at a small community college just 20 minutes away. Molly had come to visit for her university holidays, but had moved in, to help Mohinder and Maya, while working part time at a travel agency. Though Mohinder was teaching genetics, he spoke nothing of human flight, regeneration or telekinesis, though he knew all these possible.

"It's been so long since I heard such excitement in your voice" she recollected, putting chicken on the plates.

"I still get excited" he responded

"It's not the same, tell me more" she whispered, knowing he needed to imagine the abilities. He'd stopped all work on the formula a few years after escaping building 26, worked odd jobs until landing a job as a substitute science teacher. Years later, he was still barely earning what he ought, but he enjoyed his pleasant lifestyle with Maya, Molly and Matt.

"In India, I was a respected professor. I could tell the students about evolution. About the possibilities of human capabilities! Things that you and I have seen in real life! Flight! regeneration, painting the future! It's all within the grasp of our potential and Peter is so close to really transforming his abilities!"

"Why didn't you help Peter?" she asked and he shook his head, now seating himself at the table.

"I can't Maya. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to get caught up in the potential, the mess that comes with having these abilities is so great and few know how to harness it. It is great power. I have seen when these abilities do not help the world, do not help mankind, but worsen it's fate. Matt's father, Sylar they-"

"- do not say that name in my house!" she snapped and he looked up to meet her distressed gaze.

"Maya, I'm sorry" he whispered "I trailed off, I was...." he paused, not knowing what had prompted him to say the name.

"Don't mention him. He's a villain" she responded

"If it had not been for him, you'd not met me. You and I wouldn't be together, and you wouldn't be able to control your power now" he whispered

"I don't care. He murdered Alejandro" she shot back, her accent strong. "I will not hear his name in my house" she repeated again.

"What I meant was, these powers are so great, few get carried away and disastrous things happen, murders-"

"It's time for dinner, please get them, I don't want to talk about this anymore" she responded, placing a plate in front of him, with slight anger.

"You brought it up"

"You were happy, I wanted to share in it with you. You're always so miserable"

"It's not my fault Maya! It's these damn depressants" he responded, his own anger rising.

"You know what happens when you don't take the pills! It's my fault then, I want you to be well? I want to take care of you too much? I try too hard? " she asked, placing the other plates down now, with equal strength.

"That's not what I said!" he countered, now standing "You know how it is. I'm working at some college, not getting the respect I deserve. I'm frustrated! I can't even talk about powers there! My life's false, fake! I'm not discovering real evolutions, I'm teaching genetics to teenagers who will never even grasp what mankind, what we're capable of!"

"Your life is not false" she whispered back "you have me. You have Molly and Matt, we are real enough. I'm sorry, I am that you are sad with your life, but do not take it out on me. Do not." She responded.

"You should've just let me read!" he countered "Why did you have to ask?"

"I'm sorry Mohinder. Sorry for caring" she spat back and they both looked up the door, at the sound of a voice.

"Are you guys fighting again?" Molly asked, standing in the open doorway of her room. Matt too, peeked his head out his door at the situation.

"We're fine" Maya lied "come eat dinner" she soothed and Molly came forward, sitting beside Mohinder.

"Matt, come on" Mohinder urged and he too, came towards the table.

"What were you fighting about?" Matt squeaked, the scrawny 12 year old taking a seat.

"It doesn't matter" Mohinder responded crisply. "The food looks amazing Maya" he complimented, but did not raise his head to look at her.

* * *

**12 Years Past: Las Vegas, Nevada**

He was watching the news in a bar. His own brother the topic of the news cast, or so he had thought for the past years. Enraged, he wanted to throw the glass at the tv, but refrained. He remembered the night just last year, with Claire's distress call, when he'd showed up and seen them hugging. He tried to get the image out of his head, but it wouldn't budge. Memory time, it told him, forcing him to think back on that night. The night he'd lost all hope in Claire, and found it all in himself, his powers had been restored, for a terrible price, his brother and niece. Now he had barely anyone to talk to. He and Claire hadn't spoken since he'd flown out of the window, fearful of getting Sylar's power. He'd told himself he needed to return and see her, console her. As much as he had tried, however, he could not bring himself to return to her, even if to ask why her arms had been wrapped around his enemy's waist. He knew why his powers had come then, having had a year to analyze the return of his powers. The first time, when he'd been the young ambitious, caring, empathetic Peter, Claude had shattered his world, brought him out of his selflessness. He'd seen Simone and Isaac. Now he knew, he understood. His empathy got in the way, so it was clear that in the night that he lost everything to care about, he could care only about himself and his powers were able to shine though, especially when electricity surged through his body, he needed to heal. Nathan was gone that night, Angela's death had been exposed as murder and Claire, the only person left had willingly been wrapped in Sylar's arms. He had lost the part of himself that gave to others, replaced by a part that just needed others for their powers. Caring Peter was long gone, he was dark now. He sat in the same bar that he remembered from the other future, the one with Niki, the bomb going off. He was brought back from his thoughts, crashing to reality as he heard a familiar teleportation sound and turned to see Hiro standing at the entrance of the club.

"Peter?" Hiro asked, approaching the dark haired man cautiously but Peter made no notice, sipping at his strong drink.

"Sylar is a shapeshifter. You should _always _make sure" Peter replied and Hiro nodded.

"He cannot fool me!" Hiro replied with confidence

"He fooled the world for years now" Peter shot back.

"Prove yourself Peter Petrelli" he responded

"I was with Suresh when you told me to save the cheerleader"

Hiro looked at him skeptically.

"In a subway. Should I continue?" Peter asked, sipping the clear liquid.

"Sylar could know that" he responded, his english rife with errors behind the accent. Peter knew it was young Hiro, still learning his teleportation, but not able discern which future. Hiro from the time from before Arthur, before the powers were ripped away from them. Before the catalyst and the formula and the trouble. A much simpler time, a simpler Hiro, looking for a mission.

"We should develop a code" Peter remarked

"Yes! Like password!" Hiro reveled and Peter smiled, missing that optimism, the fire.

He searched for something that only he himself would know, all the alternate realities, the teleportation.

"In one version of the future, I worked with Adam, the virus" Peter said and Hiro nods, now sitting beside him.

"You look the same!" Hiro remarked, memories flashing back to Adam, imagining the countless years. This Peter wears his scar proudly, badge of truth in the lost world. Hiro's from the past, years ago, a version coming to understand the future. It always amazed Peter how they could find themselves in the mess, all the heroes, binding together through unmistakable forces, Suresh in the cab, Hiro, Claire, Niki, his thoughts stop at her, but he forces himself to forget.

"I don't age" he replies

"everyone is gone but you?" Hiro asks and Peter nods

"Sylar, Matt's son, Mohinder" he pauses "and Claire, we're all that remain"

"No one left, even I died?"

"No"

"but Ando?" Hiro asks in disbelief

"He killed most of them"

"Which future is this?" Hiro asks and Peter can't help but smile, he's gotten so confused himself. He learned, like Hiro did, that he could transcend the different realities, futures, as they yearned to change each one, he knows them all by heart now, the one's he escaped: the bomb, the virus, hunted, formula, tested cages, and now Sylar is president, a role he plays much too commonly in the futures.

"Bomb explodes, but I'm flying, no one dies. This is the future in which Nathan, Sylar locks us up for our own 'good'. Years of running, deceit and now....he's victorious and everyone is gone"

"Matt Parkman?" Hiro asks and Peter nods his head.

"Dead"

"How? Sylar?"

"Suicide" Peter responds, cold.

"why?" Hiro asks, shocked

"so Sylar wouldn't have his power" Peter responds and Hiro nods.

"how do we stop it?" Hiro asked and Peter shook his head.

"we can't" the now pessimestic Peter responds.

"There must be a way!" Hiro responds and Peter recites the only solution he can see, though he's fearful that this life might be better than any other option.

"Sylar killed Nathan. I killed Sylar. Go back and stop Matt, keep him away from Sylar. Matt made Sylar into Nathan."

"Made, how?" Hiro asked, clearly confused.

"I wasn't there, but he transcended his mind, convincing him that he was no longer Sylar, Sylar was dead and that he was Nathan Petrelli"

"and it worked?" Hiro asked

"yes, but not for long. About a few years later, Sylar found out and started accessing his abilities again. He killed my mo-" Peter stopped, choked by the words "my mother shortly after"

"I'm sorry Peter" Hiro broke the silence and Peter looked up from his drink.

"Death is part of life" he says and Hiro nodded "I have to get used to it" he smiles weakly, wondering if he wants to be alive for ever.

"stop Matt Parkman?" Hiro confirmed, but Peter's mind was already elsewhere and he didn't register himself nodding, or Hiro's teleportation.

Peter's mind was focused now on the day that Sylar, Nathan then, had told him and Claire that Angela had died. Peter had flown in for the funeral, from New York to Washington, clearly the more devastated of the brothers, though there was no mistaking that Nathan was grieved. Peter hated reliving these moments in his mind, now understanding that Nathan's silence, Sylar's silence was not grief, could not have been grief, but just silence, probably unknowing how Nathan Petrelli would act in this situation. Peter closed his eyes and saw the scene before him and though he did not want to relive it, his mind forced the images into his mind and then they played out......

* * *

**3 Years Past: Washington, DC**

Shouldn't a four-year-old be totally potty trained, Sylar wondered.

That morning, Sylar was woken up to a small voice. He groaned, sitting up in his king-size bed with Italian linens. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at the little boy standing in his colorful, printed pyjamas.

"Gabe," he asked. Sylar had given this name for Matt to call him. Hearing a little kid call him Sylar almost felt wrong.

Sylar grumbled, "What is it, Matt?"

"I wet the bed."

Sylar lept to his feet and ran past Matt to the other bedroom, hoping to mop up the mess before it soaked into the mattress of the spare bed on which Matt had been sleeping.

"Dammit, Matt!" he roared.

The little boy looked frightened as tears started to well up in his eyes. He sniffed.

"And don't you start crying again. I'm sick of your constant whining!" Sylar's voice boomed and Matt just looked stunned.

Matt turned and ran from the room into the bathroom. Sylar threw one of the soiled cushions, but only hit the back of the door as Matt shut it.

Now that it was almost 6 am, Sylar figured he might as well stay up and get ready to head into the office. He always had to shape-shift into Nathan before dressing in the suit, as Nathan's clothes didn't quite fit him. As a punishment, Sylar wedged a chair against the bathroom door, preventing Matt from getting out. Maybe a day spent in the bathroom would teach the kid to grow up a little. He almost considered putting a plate of food in the room for Matt, but decided against it, heading out the door to his driver and a bodyguard, waiting with a car for him.

Unlocking his office door, Sylar was faced with his usual pile of untackled paperwork. He wouldn't consider himself the type for a desk job, but spending so long as Nathan had taught him how to handle the mundane tasks required of a senator. Originally, he intended to visit Peter during his lunch break, but realized that would come off as selfish or inconsiderate, so he decided to drop in on Peter that morning.

Peter was with a patient.

"How are you feeling today, Mrs. Aldrickson?" he asked the elderly post-op, bringing her a tray of food.

"Better than yesterday, thank you!" the lady replied kindly.

Peter wheeled his cart up to her bedside, preparing his tools to remove her sutures from knee surgery. He carefully lifted her sheet back to reveal the surgically-closed wound.

"Lucky you've healed quickly," he commented, smiling, "Maybe it's all those veggies you've been eating since you arrived."

"Petrelli to the lobby desk, Petrelli to the lobby," called the hospital intercom

"I'll be back in a few minutes to finish removing those stitches, Mrs. Aldrickson. Now don't go anywhere without me," Peter joked with the woman, who giggled.

Peter reached the front desk, seeing Nathan standing, looking very serious. Then again, Nathan always looked serious, so there was no reason to assume anything was wrong.

"What is it, Nathan? I'm busy," Peter asked, repeating the phrase Nathan often used with him.

"I've got some bad news, Pete. It's Ma. Her townhouse burned down." Sylar was glad he was a good liar as he remembered driving Angela's car back to her house, setting it alight to give a cause of death.

"What?! Where is Mom gonna live? Is she going to stay with you?" Peter seemed to be in a bit of a panic.

"Pete, she was in the house."

"Did she get hurt?" Peter was determined not to believe his mother was gone and wished Nathan would give him a straight answer.

"Mom died last night. They haven't found her body in the ashes yet," Nathan answered, maintaining a stoic expression.

"But.. she.." his words caught in his throat, "Why didn't you fly and save her, Nathan?!" Peter shouted. A few heads turned in their direction.

"Not here, Pete," Sylar answered in a hushed voice in response to the word 'fly'.

"Why not here? You could have used your powers to go over in a moment and find her!"

"I didn't know until this morning, Pete! I just got the call a few hours ago," Sylar responded.

"Listen, I need you to call Claire. The two of you are close, right?"

"I don't think I can do that right now," Peter replied, trying not to show how distraught he was. He looked at the ground, letting his bangs fall in front of his face. Despite his attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes, Sylar heard Peter swallow hard and sniff. "She needs to hear it from her father."

"Alright, I'll tell her then."

Without another word, Peter turned on his heel and left, his hand to his mouth in an attempt to disguise his emotion. Sylar knew that Peter's abrupt departure was to avoid being seen crying. Even though Peter could be an emotional guy, he hated showing weakness.

Sylar knew nothing could be done to console his supposed brother, and trying wouldn't help. Even seeing Peter's troubled expression did little to stir any remorse in Sylar. The two had been close for a while, even if it had been a lie. Sylar wondered whether guilt was still within his range of emotions after the years he'd spent as a killer. It could be that overexposure to death and murder had finally hardened him completely if he was unable to feel anything for Peter's pain that he'd caused. Maybe giving the bad news to Claire would conjure some sympathy for the family of his latest victim.

Back in his office, Sylar picked up his phone. He flipped through his address book, looking under B for Bennet. He didn't call Nathan's daughter much. They had little in common except for the assumed relation. Since Sylar had uncovered his real identity, he had avoided talking to Claire, remembering how obsessed he was with her for a while, especially while trying to obtain her ability. It wasn't just her power that fueled his obsession.

"Bennet residence," spoke a man's voice over the phone.

"Noah, it's Nathan. I need to talk to Claire."

Sylar heard Noah Bennet call to her. She must've been upstairs.

"Hey, Nathan. What's up?" she sounded a little suprised to hear from her biological father.

"Claire, I'm afraid I have some news. Your grandmother passed away in a fire last night." Sylar tried to sound a little upset. There was silence on the other end, so he decided to continue with details. "Her house burned down while she was inside, but no remains were found. The funeral is in three days here in New York. I can book you a flight if you'd like."

After a moment of continued quiet, Claire responded, "I want to bring my dad."

"Alright. Is tomorrow morning at 9 suitable?" he asked, already browsing a travel website. He knew Nathan would be more focused on details while trying not to show emotion, so this was the kind of detachment he simulated in his tone of voice.

Claire nodded and Sylar took her sigh to be a yes.

"Listen, Claire. I'm here if you need me. Give me a call anytime if you need someone to talk to." Sylar wasn't sure how attached Claire has been to Angela, but he figured an offer of someone to lean on was a decent gesture. "I'll see you tomorrow evening at the airport."

"Bye, Nathan."

* * *

********** **3 Years Past: Washington, DC: The Airport ************

"Flight 757 now arriving" the intercom announced and Sylar grinned, knowing he convinced the whole world with his look. He had picked one of his better suits, a flashy tie and though he was inside, wore sunglasses. He leaned against the banister, across from the arrivals exit, where Claire and Noah would walk through any moment.

"Dad walk faster" Claire urged, knowing she should be sorrowful. Yet she'd not seen Peter for months, not talked to him for what seemed to be an age. She valued his friendship immensely and longed to see him, so it was hard for her to keep down her pace. Noah, on the other hand, could not be dreading the moment more. He knew Sylar and though he still believed that Sylar thought he was Nathan, he felt uneasy. He wanted to be around them at all times, not letting any harm befall Claire.

Nathan, suit, tie and the whole deal. There was no way that Sylar could know who he was, Nathan Petrelli stood before them now. This put Noah's mind to rest, only to be unsettled again as Claire left her bag with him and bounded towards her supposed father.

Nathan took his sunglasses off, placing them in his front pocket and outstretched his arms, welcoming Claire's hug.

He saw Claire instantly, her bangs somehow conjuring an image of Peter's bangs. Very alike, he thought. Then he shook the image of Peter out of his mind. Took his sunglasses off, suppressing a chuckle at Claire leaving Noah with the bags, to run into his hug. Her hug was half hearted and she looked around him instantly, as if for a gift....or Peter.

"Hi!" she said, much too excited "Where's Pete?" she asked. He cringed at the use of his 'little brother's' nickname, but forced a weak smile nonetheless. He burned with fury, but pushed it away, cursing himself for not bringing Peter. His little brother hadn't answered any calls since he'd seen him at the hospital. Noah came towards them now, with two suitcases.

"Noah" Sylar remarked, just as Nathan would have.

"Nathan" Noah answered in return, and Sylar met Claire's expectant gaze, still longing for an answer.

"He's dealing with the loss. You know Peter" he responded and she nodded.

"How did he take it?" she asked and he pushed his thoughts away, thoughts that screamed _why does she only care about Peter? Is she capable of thinking of anyone else in this family?_.

"The loss affected Peter greatly" he said, diplomatically, placing his sunglasses back onto his face, and holding the door open for Claire and Noah. The blinding rays getting them instantkly, glowing on their face. ironic for their recent loss.

"Funeral's tomorrow, that black town car is ours" Claire nodded, taking her case from her dad and heading towards it, Sylar made to follow, but Noah's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Nathan. I know Peter is the more emotional, but how are you coping?" the words pried into a part of Nathan's life that Sylar was incapable of sharing, how was the mass murderer to show compassion for one of his own victims? He nodded weakly, as if burdened by the mention.

"I'm still in shock and just trying to deal with it all" he responded, giving Noah a curt nod and heading off after Claire. He wished she hadn't brought him, for all he wanted to do, was slice his throat and spill his blood. Once finished, he wished to relive Noah's death, cursing him for his lie of a life.

* * *

His cheeks were red, raw from the cold. The wind blew against his face, resulting in a numbness in combination with the flow of tears rushing from his eyes. He was clearly more upset than anyone else. Nathan stood across from him. In between them lay the black open coffin. Nothing inside the coffin, no trace of her, no remains that signified that she had died. Her picture, beloved accessories and trinkets from the years lay inside the deep pink lining of the desolate tomb. In the picture, she stood with Nathan, Arthur and Peter, a happier time, or maybe one where the truths weren't known. His bangs hung low over his face, his tears still rushing fast, the October wind numbing his skin, coarse from tears and wind. Claire stood next to him, but her tears had long stopped. She interlaced her fingers with his, as his hand stood frightfully immobile at his side. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze and her eyes transcended words, telling him _I'm here for you._ A very weak nod of acknowledgment was all she got in return.

Others were there around him, there for his mother, but they seemed like a blur, imagined. Peter couldn't comprehend much of what was happening, still in shock. Peter was hit by waves of tears, not ceasing, unrelenting even when every part of him, wanted to shield himself from the cold. When he tried, consciously to stop his tears, he would be hit with another wave of memories, freeing the emotions and letting the tears run rapid once again. It was hopeless, he speculated, staring off at the red rose that lay beside her cherished necklace. Only by a pull of the hand, prompting him to look up to Claire, did he understand that the funeral was over. Claire watched him, worried eyes meeting his weary, saddened ones.

"Oh Pete" she whispered, as if afraid her voice would make him cry. If she'd not been so focused on attending to Peter, if his sadness had not been so great, someone may have noticed Nathan's forced emotions, his lack of tears, his unwillingness to show grief, even now.

"Peter" He looked into Noah's face at the sound of his own name. Noah braced a hand on Peter's shoulder, supportive. Peter, however, could not even muster the strength to say the man's name, his speech pulled away from him. Noah and Claire led Peter away from the grave now, slowly following the chain of people to the reception hall. Nathan lingered behind, watching them carefully. It was taking everything, every restraint to not slice Noah's neck here and now. He couldn't though, pretending to be sad was hard enough. Nathan was a secretive person, hiding emotion anyway, but Sylar didn't know how to show anything, or what Nathan would have shown. How was he supposed to show feeling anyway, when he was the one who'd killed her, and enjoyed it. He wouldn't lie, it had given him a rush, awoken the deep hunger. He watched Noah and Claire edge Peter along, offering soothing words. He felt no remorse, not for Peter or Angela or anyone, but he needed deeply to kill Noah. If he had not needed to keep his disguise hidden, the man would already be dead. He'd also contemplated how impossible it would be, true the man wouldn't see it coming, but Noah was cunningly tricky and now was not the time, not the day. He would have other chances and though it pained him to restrain the murder inside him, he walked in silence, deep in his vicious thoughts, glad no one could read them, and would observe his silence as grief.

Peter was quiet, zoned out. The sombre colored reception hall was filled with light chatter, condolences and friends talking about Angela, but Peter heard nothing, lost in his own sad world. He didn't even know what he was thinking, but knew that his tears had stopped. His cheeks burned from the sudden warmth after the chaffing cold.

"Peter?" Claire sat beside him now, holding a water for him. "You need to drink" she whispered, imaging that he dealt with grief all the time at his work. She thought to say something of it, but didn't think it would lighten his mood. She was scared to see him this way, it was making her sad as well. She treaded 'oh so' carefully, her tone, words and body language expressed her fear of setting off his emotions.

Noah scanned the room quickly, never ceasing his work side. He saw Nathan nowhere and had a moment to think on the man's actions. He was one to hide his emotions, unlike the expressively depressing Peter. He turned towards Peter and Claire, across the room. Her arm lay around his shoulder, his head down. Noah was stricken with the emotion that he felt, having thought that Angela and Peter had strayed. The reception passed by quickly for most, a blur for Peter, though he started speaking eventually, finding his voice. Claire found joy in this, since he'd been silent since they'd met a the cemetery that morning. Though he was rambling, speaking of memories and nostalgia, still distant and apart from the world, it gave Claire ease, as she could listen and not be suffocated by the silence. Soon the room started to clear, each person passing Peter with a kind remark, gesture or hug. He still was distant, but nodded, acknowledged everyone, though clearly not very aware of their passing. Soon it was just the three of them, with Nathan no where to be seen. Claire stood at her father's nod. He came to them from across the room.

"Our flight leaves soon" he spoke crispy, direct.

"I'll say goodbye" she said back and Noah wandered out, to wait outside.

"Peter?" she asked and he lifted his head, his bangs falling into his eyes. She sat by him instantly.

"Oh Pete" she whispered, brushing the bangs out of his face.

"If you need to talk to me, I'm a phone call away, ok?" she whispered and he mouthed a _thank you_.

Since the night had fallen, darkness encased parts of the room, shielding the corners especially from their view, not that they would have noticed Sylar there anyway, too caught up in themselves. He'd come back into the room, after brooding and plan hatching outside for most of the reception, though he'd also made appearances to accept grievous remarks and hugs, which he despised. When he'd come back in, Noah'd been retreating, Claire watching him go and Peter had been staring down at the ground, once again. He'd come from the other room and now stood in the corner, shielded by shadows, drawn in, watching their interaction.

The words formed in her mouth, she could feel them and knew she wanted to say them. It wasn't inappropriate, not in the least, and yet, she knew he wouldn't really understand if she said them now, not in the way that she might mean. '_I love you'_ playing in her mind, but she pushed those words away and found others.

"Peter, I hate to see you this way" she stated what had been clear by her movements all day.

"Your making me sad. Pete, you know this is a part of life. You're a nurse." She paused, but the lightness of her voice did nothing to ease his mood, so she continued more serious. "I'm so sorry, I am and I'm here for you, if you need me. I still can't stand to see you in such pain"

"Sorry" he whispered, brown chocolate eyes meeting hers. She smiled weakly, brushing the bangs from his eyes again.

"Don't be" she cooed, tears forming in her eyes.

"Don't cry Claire, I'll be ok." he smiled weakly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You've helped a lot" he soothed and she nodded, her tears now dropping.

"Claire" he whispered, pulling his arms around her now, into a hug. She cried onto his shoulder and held on tightly, unaware of their watcher in the dark. They pulled away after long moments. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears on her cheeks, before smiling very weakly, to which she returned a smile.

"I should find Nathan"

"I have to go. I'll see you in a few months. It'll be your birthday!" she assured, as they both stood now. They hugged again, this time for goodbye. Noah came in during their hug.

"Claire" he spoke softly "the car is here"

"Ok" she said, releasing Peter from her hug. "I'll see you Pete, be strong" she advised and he nodded, wiping his own tears away. He walked out of the room with her, clearly in search of Nathan.

Sylar was left standing, as the people in front of him retreated, hatred burning inside for him. No, he felt no remorse and he needed to kill again, to calm his venomous emotions.

* * *

************11 Years Past: Near Tihajuana, Mexico ************

"NO!" Mohinder shouted, his eyes flickering open and immediately registering the darkness. he glanced to Maya instantly, but she still looked asleep. he turned to look at the clock. 3 am in the morning, at least it was a saturday. He knew he just needed to get back to sleep. He was sweating in his covers, as is drowning in them. His nightmares were getting worse lately. Flashes of Matt's dead body lying in front of him. He's seen it, the photos taken by the police. He had been called to identify the body, since he was on Matt's will. Matt had made the will 'in case', but no one ever really anticipated these things. The police believed Matt killed Janice and himself, but Mohinder believed otherwise, though no proof supported his ideas. Mohinder still didn't understand, after all these years why Matt would take his own life. He sat up now, rubbing his temples. It was no use, he was awake now. He sighed deeply, still unable to shake the horrible feeling from his mind. He must have been chased, Mohinder thought on the subject of Matt's suicide. His mind reeling the image of Matt's splattered blood, gun near him, or was it in his hand? He didn't really remember the pictures, but the nightmares brought the images to life. A shadow always chased him, Matt who ran in front of Mohinder's line of vision. Matt would always look around before taking the gun and pulling the trigger. Even as he fell and the blood spilled, Mohinder couldn't move, but just yell no, usually waking himself up. This was the third night in a row that he'd dreamed this particular nightmare, and each night it was getting worse and worse.

"Mohinder?" he voice was soothing and her hand reached out and touched him on the arm. He swore softly, knowing he'd woken her. It'd been days since their fight, but they'd not spoken about it, the words had transformed into memories, feelings buried yet again.

"Shh, go back to sleep" he whispered, holding her hand in his.

"Are you ok?" she asked, her voice heavy with drowsiness.

"I'm fine" he heard himself lie "please just go back to sleep. I'm going to take water" he said, now getting up from the bed and walked out of the room. She watched his shadow leave and sighed to herself. She hated his nightmares, felt such pain for him and felt fear for their relationship, as it was growing distant.

* * *

Mohinder sat at his desk, reviewing their fight in his mind. He and Maya had been fighting non stop recently. With his nightmares getting worse, he knew the dream boy who had shown him Shantih, was trying to tell him something of Matt's death. Maya disagreed, believing the police report that Matt killed his wife, then himself. Mohinder felt otherwise, but when asked for proof, could only supply 'It's not in his personality'. He refused to believe that Matt had changed. The Matt Parkman he knew would never kill his wife, unless forced under extreme circumstances. For lack of excitement in life, lack of power use and lack of obsession, Mohinder grew unhealthily attached to Matt's death. Searching for a reason to why it had happened. His nights were plagued with terrors again, he couldn't sleep, insomniac, constantly waking Maya beside him. It was 6 am now, he'd slept on the couch last night, so as not to disturb Maya, he'd said. Truthfully, he felt her disbelief angering, he wanted to belief in Matt's innocence, but it seemed the whole world was against him. Maya blamed his condition, but his mind was still in good function, he knew. With the use of pills, his mind was still working properly, save for the over exposure to night terrors and the occasional depression. He woke up early and sat at his desk now, searching for images of Matt's death, a secured and password guarded document kept his theories hidden from all, especially Maya, who would call him obsessive, delusional and in need of help.

He cringed as the photo was brought up on the screen, a local newspaper article Mohinder had scanned, for Maya had found the original and told him that Molly and Matt shouldn't see it, that Mohinder needed to get rid of it, and he had. It had been the time when he would have done anything for her.

"Local cop kills wife and self, baby boy no where to be found"

Mohinder's mind flashed to his memories of finding Matt outside his door.

* * *

Alright! Mohinder has joined our story. We've got great plans for him, but it doesn't mean there will be any less of Peter, Sylar or Claire. More Hiro to come too!

And on Sylar- hes always been a creeper.

Keep on reading and **Chapter 4 will be up as soon** as we can manage it.

Any feedback or comments appreciated, as always.


	4. Just Hold On

Hey All! Back again!

BE SURE TO REREAD CHAPTER 3 BEFORE READING THIS! WE made some additions to chapter 3 that are vital for this chapter- mainly MOHINDER!

I Hope you all enjoy and checked out the new heroes promo!

YA SEASON 4!

Disclaimer: Don't Own Heroes, just own some episodes, pictures, music and dreams of Heroes!

* * *

**3 Years Past: New York**

Sylar figured this was his last chance to get rid of Matt without having to explain his presence to any of Angela's relatives that might happen to drop by the Petrelli mansion within the upcoming weeks. If Mohinder wasn't at home, he'd have to find somewhere else to take the boy. He planned to call one last time before deciding.

Late that evening, he arrived home, remembering where he'd left Matt. He walked quickly to the bathroom, assuring himself it wasn't out of concern for the kid's well being. Sylar opened the door, finding the little boy sleeping on the bath mat, his eyes red from crying. He almost felt bad. He knelt down and gently picked up Matt, carrying him into the kitchen. The boy rubbed his face with the back of his hand, waking up slowly and looking up at Sylar with his big, brown eyes, so like his father's, making the villain more annoyed at himself for the hint of guilt he was feeling.

Matt was placed on the couch near the kitchen, watching while Sylar heated up a frying pan. Sylar took off his suit, tie, and shirt, leaving just dress pants and a white undershirt to avoid spills on his expensive clothing. Matt heard the oil sizzle as his temporary caretaker busied himself over the stove. The smell of food made Matt's stomach growl. In recent weeks, he had missed his mom and dad. Gabe, as he was told to call Sylar, confused him, acting nice sometimes, but always talking like he was angry. Matt didn't seem too bothered by Sylar's changing appearance, or the powers he would use occasionally when no one else was around. He watched curiously as Sylar opened the fridge from across the room with a simple hand motion, the cheese levitating itself from the fridge to his hand before he turned back to the stove.

He looked up as Sylar placed a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on his lap.

"There, now you can't complain that I don't feed you." Sylar sat down next to Matt and ate his own sandwich.

Matt smiled at Sylar, holding his sandwich with a small bite taken out of it.

"What is it?"

"It's yummy, Gabe," Matt responded.

Sylar rolled his eyes. He stood up, leaving the boy still eating, and picked up the phone in the kitchen, dialing Mohinder's number.

"Hello, Suresh speaking."

Sylar hung up, confirming Mohinder's presence at his New York apartment.

"Hurry up, Matt. We're leaving soon."

"Where are we going?" he asked, putting his plate obediently in the sink, standing on tiptoes in order to reach.

"There's a nice man named Mohinder who is going to take care of you," Sylar answered. He knelt in front of Matt to speak to him, "But you can't tell him where you came from, ok? Don't tell him my name."

Matt nodded.

Sylar stood, putting on a denim jacket. He shapeshifted into a woman, choosing the young, blonde barista who handed him his coffee at starbucks this morning, brushing her hand against his own, in order to remain anonymous in case he was seen at Mohinder's place. He reached his open hand down to Matt who grabbed it, looking up at the murderer with an innocent smile.

Sylar crept down the hall of Mohinder's apartment, determined not to be seen and thus not asked any questions. He carried little Matt in his arms after giving the boy some instructions. Matt was to remain silent until it came time to knock on Mohinder's door. This would happen after the boy had counted to ten once Sylar was out of view. He had also told Matt to call Mohinder 'Dad', hoping the cute child would appeal to the doctor's sense of pity and caring.

He put Matt down on the doorstep, pulling out a piece of string. One end was doubleknotted around Matt's wrist and Sylar tied the other end to Mohinder's doorknob. There was enough slack that Matt was comfortable, but Sylar didn't want the 4-year-old to wander off.

"So remember: count to ten once I'm gone, then knock. Tell him your name and your dad's name, ok?"

Matt nodded, but his eyes started to water. Before Sylar could react, Matt threw his arms aroumd Sylar's neck, hugging him and sniffing sadly. Sylar was taken aback, but patted Matt on the back.

"Bye-bye, Gabe. I'll miss you."

There was no response, but Sylar hugged Matt tightly before leaving in a hurry, making the parting quick. Once he'd turned the corner, Matt started to count to ten, whispering the numbers to himself.

Mohinder sat in his kitchen with student papers spread across the entire table. After finally receiving credit for his Indian PhD, he was able to regain his status as a professor. This time, however, he stuck to general biology, avoiding the path that genetics had lead him down. He worked hard marking the midterms for his first-year class. Molly sat nearby, finishing up some last-minute homework, despite it being almost midnight.

A light rap at the door made both of them look up.

"What was that?" Molly asked, unsure why someone would be knocking so late.

"Get the door, will you?"

"But who knocks this late? What if it's some kind of weirdo?"

"I'm busy, Molly."

"Well I'm busy too. I don't wanna answer the door," she answered, annoyed.

He looked up at her, "I have to mark these exams by tomorrow. I don't have time for this."

"I see, and my classes aren't as important."

"That's not what I meant, Molly! Maybe you should've finished your project earlier this week instead of leaving it until the last night."

"Mohinder, you're the one who takes up the whole table every night! Plus you get mad if I try to move anything."

"I'm tired of your excuses! You're smart, Molly, you could be doing much better in school! You could be a straight A student if you put in a little effort once in a while," Mohinder replied, standing up.

"Straight As?" she shouted, "I only got one B last semester and it was in gym!"

"Why wasn't that an A as well?"

Molly slammed her book on the table, marching off to the front door as another faint knock came. She unlatched the lock and swung the door open.

"What is it?" she demanded angrily.

Molly looked down, confused at the sight of a little boy tied to the doorknob. Her expression softened as she kneeled down to untie his wrist gently.

"What's your name? What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Matt," he responded shyly.

"My name is Molly." She tried to make him feel more at ease as she led him inside, closing the door behind them, "What's your last name, Matt?"

"Parkman."

"Is your dad named Matt?" she asked, confused. He nodded.

"Who was it, Molly?" Mohinder called from the next room.

She walked into the kitchen leading the boy.

"Mohinder, it's Matt's son."

**11 Years Past:****Near Tihajuana, Mexico**

"What are you doing?" the voice brought him out of his memory and he looked up to see Maya in front of him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in sign of defense, lest they should start fighting.

"Nothing" he lied. he was always lying to her now, he felt.

"What are you doing Mohinder?" she prompted again. "Tell me the truth" she whispered, as if begging.

"No" he answered, scared of her reaction. Knowing that his obsession was unhealthy.

"Did you have the nightmare again?" she asked

"you should go back to sleep" he answered

"Mohinder, talk to me" she whispered, surrendering.

"You think it's unhealthy, but you don't understand. You didn't know Matt, he would never-"

Instantly her mood changed. She had been clearly hoping he was looking at genetics or new theories and things, but no.

"Not with this again. This is what you're doing? At 6 in the morning?"

"Why won't you believe me?" he asked, countering but trying to keep his voice low.

"It's impossible! You saw the police report!" she responded with reason.

"They're wrong! They don't know him!"

"Mohinder, you are not a cop. They did their job, he killed himself. I know this is hard for you to believe, but once you get over this, we can go back to what we were. Do you remember when we went to Mexico City with Matt and Molly? Do you remember when we were a real family?" she asked.

"Maybe I don't want to get over this, Maya. Maybe I need to know. Matt couldn't kill himself, he never would. Maya" he paused, "we've changed"

She stared at him, her eyes growing tearful.

"I've lost to this? This is what you want to do? Push me away for a theory! Ok Mohinder, Ill indulge you. Matt didn't kill himself. He was chased, he needed to get away. His wife was murdered, maybe. What does it change? It will not bring him back. All this obsession of yours is doing, is ripping our family apart! You think it's good we fight? Matt y and Molly hearing us all the time? We're here, we are real and yet you spend your time lost in this obsession! No good is to come of it. " she paused, close to tears but not letting them fall "I love you Mohinder, I do. But I will not sit by and be pushed away, I will not rip this family apart, for their sakes"

"It's not my fault! You don't believe me! You think I'm going mad!"

"You're taking pills Mohinder, you have a condition"

"I'm not insane! My brain is still good, I need to know the truth about Matt's death"

"Well maybe after you find out, however long it takes, there will be time for me. I can be gone by the time you get back from work" she threatened.

"You're not serious, you would never leave" he countered

"No? and why not? what is keeping me here with you?" she asked "I need a reason to stay with you Mohinder. I need _you_, I can't have you right now. You only care about these nightmares, your work, you want to be pitied and I can't deal with it any longer!"

"A reason? Can't you just stay with me? Can't you believe in me?"

"I did! I tried for months now! With this obsession, there's no room for me! Why stay when I'm not wanted?" Not surprisingly, he didn't counter this, didn't refute her statement and convince her that she was wanted. Perhaps the heat of the argument clouded his feelings for her, or he'd just grown away from her.

"And Matt and Molly?" he asked, still in disbelief that she would ever leave.

"It would be better If I left, for their sakes."

"So I can support them? I have work Maya! I cannot raise two children and work at the same time"

"Yes, you'd have less time for your obsession" she snapped back, her eyes starting to grow dark. "Is that what I am to you? Their mother? Your chef? Imagine how I feel! Im unemployed, I stay home all day, cooking, cleaning all for you and then what? I get nothing, not your love, not even your time"

"you don't have to do those things!" he countered

"oh and who will? you devote every moment to these theories on Matt!"

"Maya, you can't just leave!"

"No you're right. I think you should."

"What?" he asked

"I think you should leave. You don't the like the job, you can't raise Matt and Molly, and you clearly don't love me anymore. Nothing is keeping us together"

"I can't leave!" he snapped back, but he knew he could, all too easily.

"Yes you can and you should, for their sakes if not mine"

"Nothing is keeping you here" she whispered. He was lost for words, his mind reeling, spinning thoughts on this new plan. He _could_ leave. Go back to America, get a better job, find the truth about Matt. If it was better for them all, why shouldn't he? But he said nothing, and moments later, she prompted him to speak again.

"Do you even love me anymore?" she asked, her expression hard, watching him. She walked over to him, as he sat in front of the computer. She stood over him. "Well?"

"I don't want to lie to you" he whispered back, looking up to meet her saddened gaze. She hid her eyes, tears dropping in her hands and suppressed a sob. When she looked back up, her eyes were filled with a dark, deathly fog, clouding over.

"Maya, Dont" he whispered, his eyes starting to cloud over too. Screams filled their ears, slowly as the children, the neighbors, the floor, everyone's eyes filled with a dark fog, a deathly poison.

"Maya!" Mohinder choked "Molly! Matt!" he whispered, to tell her, but her tears formed, black solution dripping from her eyes, traveling down her cheeks, similar to the tears she'd been crying in secret for months now. He stood, as hard as it was, suppressed his screams and pulled her to him.

"Ma-" he choked the words "Don't kill" he forced out, shutting his eyes for the pain. He croaked in agony, but bullied himself to stand close to her, as her black, hell filled eyes watched him. He shocked her and even himself, placing his lips on hers. His arms wound around her, using all the strength he could muster. He pulled her in, into his arms, into his kiss. He wanted nothing more than to scream and scratch at his eyes until the pain subsided, but he knew better. Suddenly, she kissed back and her arms embraced him, pulling him in. He could feel himself changing, feel the pain drifting away. His pain subsided, his eyes growing back to their color, though closed as he still held her in his kiss. The screams around them faltered, until all grew quiet, or they were just unaware of anything but themselves. Against his cheek, he could feel her tears, crystal and clear, not horrible and deadly. Desolate, but they didn't move away, wrapped in each other, their lips still holding on, for that last kiss, that last hope of what they could've been, had the world not been so hard.

She pulled away what seemed ages later, wiping her tears. The black streaks of her deadly tears had been washed away with the desolate tears, the blue, clear saddened tears. New tears replaced the ones just wiped, as she was crying for their goodbye. Though much time had not passed, her mood was soft and gentle now, a dramatic change from the deadly monster she'd been moments ago. She made no effort to smile, just grew quiet, watching him. She was recovering from her embrace with powers, their long needed embrace and the words that had just been said. Though it was a fight and the anger was still wound up inside of them, a clear decision had been made. Her voice was whispering, but could not hide the anger, the fear and the sadness she felt as saying goodbye.

"We have to do this" the obvious remark left her lips, cold. He said nothing, waiting for her to speak again.

"I can't do this anymore" she spoke careful, crisp and anger sounded in her voice. "I won't"

"Let them choose. One of us will leave" he responded, his expression weary but no trace of sadness touched him, as if he'd already accepted their goodbye.

"No, I'll leave" She countered "I've been trying to live with this for months. You are a family, I've always felt like a stranger"

"Maya-" he whispered, as if to console her that she was more to their family, but felt her presence was awkward for the kids at times.

"This is your fault. You ripped us apart. I'm sorry Mohinder" her eyes were soft, sad and yet every angry word was meant. She looked at him, as if memorizing this moment and then retreated to the bedroom without another word. He heard the shuffling of the suitcase from under the bed, and could also hear her choking sobs. His eyes had followed her, only to meet Molly's eyes, as she had been watching for a few moments now, from her room. Her cheeks were wet with tears, for the pain felt when Maya had used her power.

"Mohinder?" she asked, wearingly.

"Get ready for work" he responded, a tear falling from his eye. She nodded meekly and retreated to her room.

* * *

**11 Years Past: New York**

Claire watched him from across the hole in the ground. He'd made no notice of her, not a word or a look at all. She watched in disbelief. _So this is what's it's come to_. She thought, hating herself for pushing him away. She'd gotten a phone call from Hiro Nakamura of all people, telling her about the funeral. He said she needed to know, and nothing else. Peter didn't even have the courtesy to call her, and she felt as if she didn't deserve his attention. Still, from across the hollow pit in the earth where his brother lay deep below, she tried to catch the attention of the one person who needed her most now.

Claire had never felt so invisible in her whole life. She could see him cry, feel his pain and wanted to reach out to him, hold him in her arms until he forgave her, until it was alright for them to be themselves again. No amount of wishing would bring him back, nothing would make him look up from the ground and meet her eager gaze. Her eyes hungered for his, her arms around his strong, protective body, she longed for his words of wisdom. Most of all, she needed and didn't know how long she could go on, without his gentle smile. The way his eyes would light, at the idea of saving the world, the bright, brilliant, fun Peter she'd met, she'd loved, she needed. That Peter was probably gone now and Claire's tears fell, not for Nathan's death, but for the death she had caused in Peter. She didn't pay much attention, the whole thing went by in a flash, but soon she was standing in the reception hall, watching Peter. Everything else seemed unreal and she was fearful, knowing she shouldn't come to him, but hoped that even Nathan's death would make him forget. She swallowed her fear, telling herself not to feel, finished the last of her already cold tea and walked over to where he stood.

"Peter?" her voice was weak, and either he'd not heard her, or chosen not to. His head didn't rise, his brown eyes didn't meet hers, no change, as if she was still across the room. She gathered more strength and tried to say his name again, but it just hurt her to remember how he'd left with such fury, hurling himself out the window to get away from her and Sylar.

"Peter" she said now, less of a question and louder, but her timing was wrong, too wrong and in that moment, Peter's attention was caught by someone else. His head jerked to the side, and at the sight of Hiro, Peter rose out of his chair and walked straight past Claire.

Hiro nodded curtly, acknowledging him and within a moment, they were in the dark, deep in conversation and plotting.

Claire's downcast eyes barely mirrored her sad attempts and retreated, defeated. She felt a hand on her shoulder and though she could see Peter in front of her, she still wished it belonged to him. She turned to meet her father's eyes.

"He didn't see you Claire" Noah whispered and she nodded, letting him lead her back to the other side of the room. He wondered himself, if Peter hadn't seen her, or actually was ignoring her. Noah had not seen them speak for the whole time. Perhaps Peter was taking the news greatly, too greatly to talk to Claire, and yet something didn't feel right. He was deep in conversation with Hiro now, obviously eager to find a way to go back and stop the mess of Sylar becoming Nathan. Noah was conflicted, as much as he hated Peter's protection, anyone protecting Claire other than himself. He could also see his daughter's need to be with him, need to speak to him. He wondered why they were not on speaking terms, or if something had happened to them, but figured that they would work it out in time and it may even be a small disagreement. He sat beside Claire, now with dark coffee in his cup.

"He'll come around" he said, though he didn't understand the weight of the argument, and Claire clearly didn't want to share.

Peter nodded vaguely, though he hadn't heard what Hiro had said. He could see Claire's pain and wanted to speak to her. Every instant he looked at her, his mind rushed memories of Sylar, her embrace with Sylar. From there every single bad memory from Sylar would rush forward, fantastically horrifying visuals of his mother being murdered, Nathan being murdered. He could feel the tears form and the nausea start and forced himself to look back to Hiro, away from Claire. He couldn't talk to her, not just yet and it killed him, since he wanted to put her out of her pain.

* * *

**14 Years Past: New York**

"Can you get the door?" Mohinder asked, not looking up from his folder. "I'm working"

"Ya sure" Matt responded, his voice soft. He hopped out of his chair, putting down his book and striding to the door.

He opened the door to a man, clad all in black, but one he knew nonetheless.

"Hi Matt" Peter greeted

"Hey, come on in" he offered, leaving the door and calling out in front of him.

"Mohinder, Peter's here"

Mohinder's eyes shot up instantly and he gave Peter a greeting nod, closing his folder and standing. Peter looked around the small apartment, and sat at the living room table, beside Mohinder.

"It's serious" his stated, though his somber tone, dark colors and expression made that very clear.

"It'd be best if you sat, Mohinder" he continued "I can't stay long, I've got to tell others"

Mohinder nodded vaguely to Matt, as an introduction to leave. Matt smiled weakly at Peter, picked up his book and walked out of the living room. He leaned close against the door, curiosity fueling his actions.

"What is it Peter? Is someone hunting us? Is it about Nathan? Is Hiro ok?" a thousand questions came out and Peter shook his head.

"It's about Nathan"

Mohinder nodded, as if bracing himself.

"Well what is it?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to know. "How bad is it?"

"He's not Nathan" Peter said, trying to word the information correctly.

"What do you mean?"

"Sylar's not dead, Mohinder"

"Sylar? You can't be serious?" Peter said nothing in return, hoping the information would sink in.

"But that, how?"

"He's been Nathan for years. Shapeshifter"

"You saw him die! You killed him!"

"Matt brought him back"

"But Nathan is president" Mohinder countered, fearful of what he'd just learned.

Peter shook his head lightly.

"Sylar is president. He must have murdered Janice and left Matt at your door. He's president, we've got to stop him. I'm working with rebel"

"He murdered Janice? Then he murdered Matt too!"

"No, Matt killed himself"

Mohinder stood up at this, fists clenching instantly.

"Matt wouldn't kill himself!" he shouted "I know you all think I've gone mad, but I know Matt and he wouldn't kill himself! Ever!"

"Mohinder sit, calm down" Peter said, as if distant from the words he was saying. Mohinder obliged, but watched Peter skeptically, awaiting an explanation.

"Matt killed himself so that Sylar wouldn't have his ability. He believed that Matt and Janice were dead. I've gone back in time, I've seen it, I've read his thoughts at the exact moment when that trigger was pulled."

"and you didn't stop him? You didn't save him?" Mohinder asked, horrified

"This things need planning Mohinder! I need to change things when Sylar died, not at Matt's death."

"You could have stopped him!"

"I'll change things, but not yet. I wanted you to know. You were right, all those years. You believed in Matt, I should have too"

"Sylar's alive?" Mohinder choked out the truth that now stared him in the face.

"It's all I came to say" Peter answered, monotone "I'm sorry and you can contact me if you need to talk"

"You're not leaving, are you?" Mohinder asked, still coming to grips with the news.

"I have to. I'm meeting rebel forces, meeting Hiro to map out our history in time"

"And If I have to reach you?"

"Isaac Mendes' place" Peter replied

"Bye" Mohinder said absently, watching him disappear, breathless and horrified of the information he'd just received.

Matt felt like the floor was dropping from underneath him and the walls were closing in. He leaned his back against the door to the living room where his father spoke to a guest, closing his eyes to steady himself after what was bound to be a turning point in his life. Matt hurried quietly down the hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and flopping on his bed, lost in his own thoughts. Matt Parkman had just overheard a conversation between Mohinder, his adopted father, and Peter Petrelli, a friend of the family. The United States president, Nathan Petrelli, was actually a man named Sylar. Sylar had killed Matt's mother and father.

Mohinder had always told Matt that his father had killed his mother, then committed suicide. Although growing up with this information may have seemed harsh, Matt realized that Mohinder would rather tell the truth than sugar-coat the information. Mohinder sounded as suprised as he that Sylar was responsible, so Matt had no reason to blame Mohinder for the previous falsehood.

Suddenly, a realization hit Matt. Molly's parents had been murdered. He wasn't sure who the killer was, but he wondered if there was a connection. This could mean that everything would be connected. His mind sorted through all the possibilities and wondered how deep this story went.

Since it was around noon, Molly would be working at the travel agent's. Matt flipped open his cell phone and dialed the number for the office.

"Sunny Days Travel, Molly speaking. What can I do for you today?" came a polite greeting.

"It's Matt. I wanted to ask how your parents died," he responded, getting quickly to the point.

Molly sighed, "Can't we wait until I get home tonight? I don't want to talk about this over the phone."

"It's important. I really need to know what happened and who. In a bit of a crisis right now."

She could tell from his voice that he was a little panicked. "It was a few years before you were born. I was at home on a weekend, and the man broke in. I saw my mother get attacked, but I hid before it was over. Then your dad came in and found me in the closet after hearing my thoughts. Both my parents were killed."

"But who did it?!" Matt demanded.

"A man named Sylar, but he died 14 years ago. And he damn well deserved it."

Matt was silent on the other end as a shiver ran down his spine.

"Are you still there, Matt? We can talk more tonight."

Still no answer. Molly grew worried. She was confused though, because she'd already told him this story. Both of them had experienced tragedy, but she thought they were getting through it alright.

"I'll come home early today to talk about this, Matt, but right now I need to get back to work. So I'll talk to you later," Molly said, hanging up after waiting a little longer for a response.

Matt's mind was racing as he shut his phone. The killer of Molly's parents had also killed his own, and the man was still alive. In fact, this man was president of the country.

* * *

The current plan was to prepare tonight and head out before the sun to be in Albany by daybreak. If Matt borrowed Mohinder's car, he could return it before Mohinder set out for his evening classes. On Fridays, Mohinder would always stay home all morning and leave at 4:00 for the university. If things went according to plan, his adopted dad would never notice Matt's absence.

It was about six in the morning and Matt double checked his backpack. He'd packed whatever cash he had, some thin wire as a backup weapon, a map of Albany, NY, and a change of clothes so he could return discreetly if his current pair got dirty with the spilling of Sylar's blood. If he drove quickly, it would take about two hours to reach Albany, arriving just as shops started to open and the president would go about his business.

Matt crept out the door, using his keys to lock it behind him. He rushed down the stairwell of the apartment building and out to Mohinder's parked car. It started first try for once and he drove out of the underground parkade, turning left towards the Thruway.

Once at his destination, Matt parked at a strip mall, locking the car and walking up to an outdoor atm. Using his debit card, he withdrew as much as his limit would allow, totaling 800 dollars. He thanked his sense of responsiblity in saving his money rather than spending it. Cash in hand, Matt paced just outside a gun store that was just opening for the day. He waited almost half an hour before spotting a customer striding up the parking lot toward the shop. He hurried to the middle-aged man, faking a smile.

"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask you a favor?"

"Depends what it is," the man replied in a friendly tone.

"I'm supposed to go target shooting with my dad this afternoon, but the handgun he bought me recently is broken. He'd be mad if he found out, so I was wondering... if you might be able to go in and get me a new one. I have the money right here."

The man raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Where did the money come from?"

"It's mine, I promise. I just got the cash out of the atm." Matt showed the man a forged handgun course certificate he'd printed last night. "This proves that I'm certified, but I'm not old enough to buy a gun."

After looking closely at the piece of paper, the man felt a little reassured. "I guess I could get you one. What kind was it?"

"It was a Taurus Millenium series PT145," Matt responded. He'd done his research and chosen the handgun for it's power and concealibility. He was glad the man was so trusting.

"Ok, I'll be out in a few. Actually, I might be a while because I've got some browsing to do."

"Thanks so much, sir!" Matt replied innocently.

Matt waited outside, growing impatient as almost an hour passed. With revenge on his mind, the time went slowly. Eventually, the same man from earlier exited the store, carrying a shopping bag. He greeted Matt with a smile, handing him the bag.

"I hope you're not up to no good, son. You seem like a good boy."

"Thanks, much appreciated."

Back in Mohinder's car, Matt stored the gun in the glove box. In the trunk he had a box of bullets that he'd snuck out of Mohinder's drawer. He had known for a while that Mohinder kept a handgun for the sake of safety, living in the big city, but the small safe was locked. The bullets, on the other hand, were quite accessible. During his research, he'd checked that the gun he intended to buy was of the same caliber.

In his mind, he played out the scene of him standing before Sylar, aiming his gun. In his imaginings, everyone around would see the president transform into the killer before their eyes, gasping in horror before Matt shot him dead. Maybe he might even be some kind of hero. He thought about what kind of dramatic line he might say right before he put a bullet between the eyes of the murderer of his parents. Perhaps he could say something like, 'My father should have killed you when he had the chance,' or maybe, 'You should've stayed dead, Sylar.'

The capitol building came into view soon after. It was 10:00 and he was behind schedule. After parking the car at a meter, Matt spotted a crowd consisting partially of camera crews. His heart raced. Could it be the president, so soon? Matt didn't feel quite ready. Stuffing the gun into the waist of his pants, he put a jacket over top and rushed to the crowd, pushing his way to the centre. Stumbling over someone's foot, he almost bumped into someone. Matt Parkman looked up slowly and found himself face-to-face with Sylar.

* * *

**16 Years Past: Santa Fe, New Mexico**

She didn't know why and it was haunting her, but still she kept going. She wanted it to be a wrong number, but by the first ring, she was wrong. There was no turning back now. She tried to justify her actions, but still felt horrible inside. Was she using him? She asked herself, but knew she wasn't and hoped he wouldn't mind. She had just been through a horrible day, her father's death. Not a soul to talk to, so she was resorting to the one person she had thought didn't have a soul. Third ring. She could still hang up now but couldn't even recollect dialing moments ago. Then there was the click, it's sound vibrating in her ears, the bitter truth of what she was doing. It was midnight, and she was calling her enemy. She had no one else. He had kept his number, Nathan Petrelli, senate. She hoped it would go to voicemail, so she could chicken out. Maybe even hearing her dead father's voice would get her through the death of her other father's. But that was before it had clicked.

"Hello?" the sleepy voice asked, and though she couldn't feel her words, they came out in a squeak.

"Hi" she said back, hoping he wouldn't know it was her, but it was too late. She was in the corner of her bedroom, lights all out, scared, terrified. Her father had just died, the funeral had left her so alone and hopeless, She'd been having nightmares again, of Sylar, Peter, but had realized how human Gabriel was, emphasized by her dreams. Wasn't that why she had hugged him anyway? All that time ago?

"CLAIRE?" he asked, his voice unable to mask the shock. In his apartment, he turned the light on. It was Sylar's voice, no reason to mask it in the middle of the night

"Hi" she said again, scared of her own feelings or thoughts.

"What are you doing?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"I need someone to talk to" she whispered back, wondering how insane she sounded.

A smile crept onto his face, but he didn't dare show it.

"Why not Peter?" he asked, curious.

She was silent in response, unsure herself and she didn't risk a lie, for fear that he would be able to hear it.

"Claire?" his voice was gentle

"I'm here" she responded

"Is everything ok?" he asked, knowing this was a rare occasion.

"my dad died" she whispered and he was fully awake now, to console her if needed.

"I'm sorry" he answered. He heard her tears through the line and wondered what he could say, but nothing came to mind to break the silence. He wondered how Bennet had met his fate, but would not ask to satisfy his ego. Thankfully, she gave the explanation.

"He died on the job" she whispered "and I didn't find out in time to help hi-" her voice gave out, choking into sobs.

"There was nothing you could do" he whispered back.

"I know" she replied, but he could still hear her sobbing. She must be really upset, he thought. For her to call him of all people. He felt a bit happy, proud even, that she'd called him and not Peter. He had probably successfully ruined their semi-inappropriate relationship and this gave him slight joy, though also distress. He had not meant to cause her pain, but now she confided in him, consoled in him. Or was she using him? Would she ask him to pretend to be Peter? Or for Peter's contact information? Thoughts raced through his head, he was not used to such confusion and did not like it. He wondered if it was his turn to speak, or what he should say. He wondered also, where she was and all the details, or perhaps they should talk about something else? He pondered now, what was a possible topic that they could both enjoy? Nothing mentioning death, or him, nothing that could trigger painful memories. What on earth would be a neutral topic for a ex-victim of his? School? College? Boys? What on earth could be said? Elle and him only talked about their powers, probably a touchy topic for him to share with Claire, since he'd only met her because he needed her powers. He didn't dare share more of himself as he had with Elle. They had discussed themselves, their flaws, but he didn't feel like hashing out his deepest flaws to Claire.

"Can we talk about something else?" she asked as if reading his thoughts.

"Of course" he replied, wondering what she would pick and if she was trying to find something good to talk about, as well.

"Hows your brother?" he asked, wondering if he was even remembering correctly.

"We don't talk" she responded and he felt that the silence would ensue again. _This is so awkward_, he thought to himself and wondered what on earth she had called for. She also thought to herself, why had she called? Certainly something had changed that night, but it was a momentary thing, a lapse in judgement, a serious lapse. Now she was connected on the phone, at midnight to a man who'd been her worst enemy and now she was so unsure what he was. Certainly not a friend, or a confident, but some force that she now called to.

"I don't know why I called" she said, though she did not feel like hanging up.

"I needed someone to talk to" she kept going and he nodded, then realized she could not see him.

"You miss your family" it was an obvious statement, but better than saying nothing.

"It what happens when we can't age" he responded, trying to add humor. She smiled weakly, though he couldn't tell.

"Ya I guess" she responded. It was hard to bring humor into a time like this.

"I'm here, if you need to talk" he answered, wondering if his words were wrong, they sounded so unlike him. As is he was pretending to be Peter. With all his changing, was he even Gabriel anymore? Could he now somehow feel compassion? He didn't know any of these answers, only that he'd never been so scared to hurt her before, it wasn't like him and he didn't like the feeling one bit. He needed something to divert, something to say. He felt nice, and he didn't like it one bit, in fact he felt like Peter and he really didn't like that thought.

"Thanks" she whispered, though it was pretty obvious that was the reason she had called.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, fragile and afraid now.

"Yes" he answered, his mind ticking, clicking, wondering what the question would be.

"No, I don't want to" she changed her mind, quickly.

"No, go on" he urged, now curious, too curious to let it go.

"I wondered if you could sound like- " she paused, wondering what she wanted. He felt his anger rise, feeling that she would say Peter's name. He doubted her now, and hated himself for falling into her petty trap.

"I need Nathan" she whispered, and his mood lightened, his surprise monumental.

"Is that why you're calling?" his question was direct, his mood growing angry. He didn't believe her. He knew she needed Nathan, there was no doubt and it wasn't a lie, but perhaps she need Peter more. He felt anger, slowly.

"No" she confessed "I didn't intend to ask that. When I called. I just need someone now. My father"

"I understand" he whispered, remembering his own mother's words out of his mouth, when he'd learned his shapeshifting ability.

"Fine" he said, though he'd already hatched a plan.

"Claire, I'm here for you" he whispered, but the voice he used was of the other Petrelli brother.

"Peter?" her mood changed, instantly, new tears gushing at the sound of his voice. "I missed you" she had said, before she'd even really registered what it meant to say that and who she was talking to.

"You lied to me" it was Sylar's voice that accused her now. "You don't need me, or Nathan. Just your precious Peter"

"I'm distraught" she defended "my father just died!"

"So you call me and use me? Why not call Peter?" he asked, sharp and bitter.

"I haven't spoken to him for 5 years. All because of you!" she shouted back, her mood suddenly hostile. She remembered everything now, as if a cloud was lifted.

"I thought you changed Sylar, but I was wrong" she said, as spitefully as she could manage. She hung up the phone and as soon as she had, fresh tears rushed from her eyes. He pushed her away, he knew, But he'd discovered her lies. He wondered if he should have just consoled her, been Nathan, but it was not in him to do so. He had felt happiness, a deep pleasure in the fact that he'd driven her and Peter apart for 5 years. Yet, though he felt that she cared for him, he felt melancholy in pushing her away from Peter and from himself.

* * *

**14 Years Past: New York**

Matt gasped as he looked up at the imposing, suit-clad figure, Nathan Petrelli's strong chin and serious expression appearing daunting. It was now or never. Matt straightened himself up but only reached Sylar's shoulder. Still, he tried to appear confident.

"You alright, kid?" Sylar asked after Matt had steadied himself from tripping.

"I know who you are, Sylar. You killed my mother and father!" he shouted. The crowd was hushed.

Sylar gave a bit of an awkward laugh, giving a discreet glance to one of his body guards, who nodded. "I think you must have the wrong person." A couple people in the crowd chuckled.

This wasn't going at all how Matt planned. His cheeks burned with rage and embarrassment. He almost reached for his gun before remembering with a shock that he'd left the bullets in the car. The next idea that crossed his mind was to simply jump at Sylar and hurt him as much as possible with his bare fists. Before he could act, however, a strong arm grabbed him roughly by the upper arm, dragging him away from Sylar and his revenge.

He was pulled a ways from the president by his bodyguard, having to stand on his toes due to the painful grip pulling his arm upwards.

"Stay away from the president or we'll have to call the police, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, just let me go," Matt responded, staring at the ground. He blinked back tears that were threatening to fall. He felt so useless.

The guard turned and left after being radioed that he was needed elsewhere.

Matt needed to rethink his plan after failing so easily. He felt so frustrated from his failure to avenge his family, but tried to focus on the details of his plan to escape the overwhelming emotion he was feeling. Obviously, Sylar had a lot of protection in public, being such an important figure. If he could find his enemy alone in his hotel room, it would just be the two of them, one-on-one. He'd heard stories about how powerful Sylar was, but didn't know his specific abilities. If Matt could catch him offguard, he would be able to strike first. No powers would save him.

Back in the car, Matt made sure his gun was loaded and put extra bullets in his pocket, along with the wire just in case. He carefully slid a crowbar down one pantleg, adjust it so he could walk without his weapon being noticed. He opened up his map, looking for the most expensive hotel, planning to find the presidential suite. Since Sylar was leaving the capitol building, he must be heading back to his hotel. Matt was thankful that the security didn't know what his car looked like.

After a short drive, Matt parked two blocks from the grand-looking hotel. He put money in the meter and walked around the building, looking for any staff-only entrances. After only finding a locked door, he opted for the main entrance, strolling nonchalantly behind the desk and into the back room. He tried to look at ease so as to avoid suspicion. Finding himself in a hallway, he browsed the rooms until he found the men's changing room. Hunting through the laundry bag, he found a lightly used outfit of the appropriate size. Matt changed quickly, heading further down the hall.

As Matt came across the kitchen, he had an idea. He grabbed a nearby cart, pushing it through the double swinging doors into the huge, bustling room.

* * *

**18 Years Past: Tilmi, Morroco. **

Hot heat, burning heat and Peter couldn't sleep again. He'd been here a week, searching for a remains of someone, anyone, but there was no one to be found. Most were all dead and gone, and the new ones didn't care about the past, reckless and inconsiderate. It was hot in his single motel room and he paced the place, thinking. When was the last time he had spoken to someone that knew him? Knew his secrets? Knew his family? And then it hit him, 7 years. 7 years, the night he'd seen Claire, the morning he'd come to save her. Sylar had been there, wrapped up in her hug. He loved her, he cared for her, one of the only thing he had left in his life and her arms had been wrapped around his greatest enemy, and what's more- it was willingly! It was driving him insane. He tried not to focus on it, Hiro said he would teleport to see him soon, but he doubted the Japanese man, no impending doom to stop now, no reason to follow through. Peter had thought about it, actually it had never left his mind. Sylar was Nathan. Nathan was dead, his mother lied to him. Sylar killed Nathan. Sylar killed Angela. Nothing mattered, and he kept thinking about it, going back. Stopping Angela, stopping Nathan, killing him. With his shapeshifting, there was no way to know where to strike him, no way to kill him and if Peter couldn't have that, he didn't want to try. When would he strike anyway? He didn't know when Nathan had died, he didn't know anything about it. He thought about going back even further, when Sylar didn't have powers, the eclipse, so many moments in time he could go to. He always decided against it and waited. Waited for the time when it would be ok to speak to Claire, waited for Hiro. He was no longer a man of action. What was he doing, he thought to himself. He was supposed to be a hero, he was supposed to be Peter Petrelli. He travelled, here and there, trying to find remains of heroes lost or forgotten. He'd found Mohinder, the poor sap. 7 years since they had seen each other last and Mohinder's mind was decaying. There was too much that Peter wanted to change, this was different, not like the times before when he could pick a specific moment, the bomb, virus, Nathan's revelation, Nathan to senate. Now it had all faded away in black shades, drifting into the darkness and the man, weary with age, though he'd live forever, was in a phase of acceptance. He knew it wouldn't last, that sooner or later, he would get the need back, the thrill of hunting the bad guy, the need to change the world, but now there was nothing. He had a scar, from so long ago, that it pained him to think of the events, he was cold and hard. He no longer worked as a nurse, he didn't need it from Angela's inheritance, he didn't need anything. He thought he was bad, that he was a decaying, horrifying version of himself, but he could have fallen much lower, so easily.

* * *


End file.
